


Bits and Pieces

by hismementomori



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hismementomori/pseuds/hismementomori
Summary: You go out with your friends one night and end up with one hell of a hangover. A hangover that leads to dreams about two strange men and it changes you and your life forever.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic and first reader insert. I have a vague idea of where I’m going with this and hope that people are interested enough for me to keep going.
> 
> This is unbeta'd. Sorry for any mistakes.

You aren’t exactly sure how it happened, but you knew when.

A night out is what you need, your friends pressing you every weekend after a hard five days of labor and every weekend you told them no, that you just wanted to relax, take a hot bath and Netflix your way to Monday. But you cave because there’s only some many times you can say no before you start to lose your friends.

So you go out to a bar, some low-class joint that supposedly served the best beer and wings in town. Booze and food, how could you say no?

It’s a small group of you, five hungry, thirsty women that destroy basket after basket, pitcher after pitcher and the employees don’t seemed to mind since you all were racking up the beer. Quiet giggles become loud, open laughter and the silly innuendos become outright filth.

Three pitchers in and your bladder is screaming, so you stumble your way to the bathroom on your own. The place isn’t busy, so it didn’t seem necessary to use the buddy system, but you regret it in hindsight.

You do your business and make your way to the sink, leaning against the porcelain to make the room stop spinning. You remember the woman in the mirror, speaking a language you didn’t understand and then nothing.

Nothing becomes your friend’s voice, her hands on your shoulders as she brings you back to the land of the living. She insists that she takes you to the hospital because it’s not like you to pass out after a few glasses of beer, or to at least bring you home, but you decline. You’re fine, you tell her, and you both make your way back to the table.

An Uber brings you all home safe and sound where you pass out on your couch, drooling on the faux-leather until morning.

—

Your head is pounding when you wake up, not unusual for a Saturday morning after a night out, so you carefully roll off the couch and find yourself in the shower, once you strip along the way. The hot water feels amazing on your sensitive skin and you stand under it, eyes closed, drifting away until you find yourself sitting in a dark room.

From the looks of it, it’s a fly-by-night kind of place with wallpaper from the 70’s and beds that probably have more stains than you care to imagine. There are two men in the room with you, one in each of the Queen sized beds, both seemingly dead to the world and especially to you. A warmth washes over you, a protective instinct kicking in and a bit of embarrassment, like you’re not supposed to see this kind of vulnerability. But you watch, seeing their chests rise and fall with their slow, steady breathing and soft snores escaping. There’s a whimper from one of them, a name that you can quite hear, but it’s heartbreaking and you try to take a step forward, but something keeps you at bay.

So you stand where you are and continue to look about the room, finding two open duffles with clothes and toiletry bags poking out. Near them is the small table with an empty, open pizza box and finished bottles of beer. The mess is surrounded by a laptop, opened as well, and its screen is filled with browser tabs, all texts and pictures you can’t make out from where you are. There are files next to the computer, just a few, stacked and within arms reach should they be needed.

There’s movement that catches your eye, one of them turning over onto his back, arms and legs wriggling around until he find a comfortable spot and it only lasts a second before he’s on his side, curled up and around a pillow. He lets out a frustrated sigh, brow pinched and nose wrinkled, but he doesn’t wake, just allows himself to fall back to sleep as though his life depended on it.

The pull to comfort him tugs at your stomach, but as much as you want, you can’t move, you stay there and watch and wait until the tension in his face is gone and he’s snoring once again.

And then it’s over. You’re standing in your shower once again, the hot water turning cold. Your head is pounding again, almost blinding you, so you do your best to turn off the water and get out, searching for your towel with your eyes closed. You make quick work to dry yourself off and seek out an Advil or seven, popping them and chasing them down with a half bottle of water.

You find your bed and curl up, not bothering with clothes because you feel like your head’s going to explode if you move anymore.

Sleep comes easy and your dreams are a bit weird.

You find yourself in the backseat of a car with the two men from the night before. In the daylight you can see them properly now. The passenger was a large man, wedged up in the front seat with mile long legs and an even longer torso. He’s looking down at a tablet, long, dirty blonde hair framing his face. You move to try and get a better look at him, but it’s as if you’re glued to your seat, what you see is what you get.

The driver is the pillow cuddler from your last… dream? Vision? He’s got shorter hair, thankfully, scruff sitting on one hell of a jawline. He’s talking to the other man, turning his head to the side every now and again, eyes off the road, a hard look on his face. You’re worried that he’ll get into an accident the way he’s carrying on, but it looks like you’re all driving along a long stretch of country road and not another car could be seen for miles.

But at least you can get a proper look at his profile, perfect pointy nose and plump lips, and the way the light’s catching his eyes, they almost glow green. He’s a beautiful man and something tells you if you say that, he’d get a nice pink blush on his freckled cheeks.

It’s weird, though, you can’t hear them talking now whereas you could hear them the night before, snores and all. The thought comes and goes as they start laughing, bright smiles graces both of their faces and the car speeds up given how fast the countryside is going by now.

And it’s night by the time you wake up. You haven’t moved from the spot you passed out in and your apartment has never been more quiet. Every creak of your bed and footstep on the hardwood floor sounds like a thundering boom and it starts to freak you out. You’ve lived alone for years, you’re fine with the quiet, but right now, it’s unnerving.

You reach for the lightswitch and flip it, but nothing happens. You try again and again, but it’s useless. There’s no storm, you’ve paid the bill, so it must be someone in the building tripping the breaker or something. You sigh heavily and search for a flashlight, flipping it on as it faces the darkness.

You see the woman, the one from the night before, from the mirror. She’s old and haggard, hunched with age. You stare because that’s the only thing that you can do and she stares back. The pair of you stand there until you find your voice to speak, “What- Who - What?”

The woman continues to stand, not bothering to respond, at least for the moment. The flashlight shone in her milky white eyes and she smiles, brown, rotted teeth lining behind chapped lips. “I’m dying,” she answers matter-of-factly, not a hint of fear or sorrow in her face. “And you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, dear.”

You open your mouth to speak, but there’s the nothingness again and you crumple to the floor.

—

“I think she’s waking up,” you hear a voice say, muffled and very far away.

You shift and feel yourself unable to move much. You wriggle your arms and your legs, but they’re tied down. Panicking, your eyes snap open and you see the two men you’ve been dreaming about, sitting across from you on their respective beds, one with a gun and the other looking concerned.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” the gunman says, voice gruff and slightly hostile. “‘Bout time you came ‘round. You mind tellin’ us how you got here?”

You stare at him, eyes wide and you shake your head. Your lips part but no words are coming out, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“Is that a no, you won’t tell us or a no, you don’t know,” the other man asks, the one with the long hair that you couldn’t really see before. He’s as handsome as the other man, with a cleft chin and a long, pointy nose, but the same, beautiful green eyes.

You try again, a choked noise escaping this time, your throat throbbing with pain. You smack your lips together, your tongue licking around you mouth to chase away the dry, but it’s of no use. But the larger man notices your struggling and he gets up, disappears into the bathroom, you hear the sink, and he’s back with a glass of water. He gently cradles your head and helps you drink. You try to drink it as fast as you can as your body realizes it’s dehydrated, but he’s careful and gives you sips at a time.

“Thanks,” you croak out and he gives you a small smile in return.

The gunman sighs and clears his throat which signals the large one to join him on the far side of the room, far away from you. “So, now that you’re all watered up, how ‘bout you answer the question?”

“I don’t know,” you answer earnestly. “I was… I was home and there was this creepy old lady and then I blacked out and then I woke up here. I don’t know,” you repeat, feeling the onset of a headache.

“Okay, well, did Grandma say anything to you? You know, anything that you didn’t understand, maybe in some language you’ve never heard of,” he continues, finger idly resting near the trigger of the gun.

Your brow pinches and you close your eyes, replaying what you last remember. “No, not… not the last time. But I saw her before,” you explain, not wanting to open your eyes because even the dim lights of the shifty hotel room would start the head throbbing. “I was out with my friends and was there in the bathroom, but not in the bathroom, you know? Like, I saw her in the mirror… she said some weird shit and I blacked out.”

There’s shifting on the other side of the room and you crack one eye open to see them exchange looks. “Do you remember exactly what she said? Or even just bits of it,” the larger man asks, his tone a little less forgiving than his counterpart.

You do your best to try to recall, but you can’t, not with the massive headache that’s coming. “But before I ended up here, she said… she told me she was dying and that I was at… at the wrong place at the wrong time? I don’t know, man. Do you have aspirin or something, I think my head’s going to split open.” There’s a sharp pain at the base of your neck and it shoots up through the rest of your head, pounding and pounding.

The gunman waves to his partner and the big guy is up again and soon he’s next to you with meds and more water, both you accept gratefully.

“Did you smell anything,” the gunman asks and you look at him quizzically. “Sulfur, rotten eggs.” You shake your head. “Feel any cold spots? Lights flickering?”

“My lights wouldn’t turn on,” you shrug. “Can we please play 20 Questions later? I just wanna go back home and go to sleep.”

Gunman gets up from the bed and moves to you, squants down between your spread legs and taps the gun on your knee. “No can do, sweetheart,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can’t you go ‘til we know what you are.”

You blink and tilt your head, silently asking him, what the fuck?

“You’re not a demon, or a vampire, no ghoul or shapeshifter,” he shakes his head. “Could be a lot of things, but my money’s on witch.” He lifts the gun and points it right at you, square between your eyes, “And these bullets in this here gun? They’re the witch killin’ kind.” That gets you squirming, you pull on the restraints and he’s laughing. “Gotcha.”

The words spilling out of your mouth are incoherent, if they’re words at all. “No,” you finally get out. “I’m not a witch. I’m just me, alright? I’m a barista at the hospital and and and a nursing student. I’m just me,” you sob, the gun still aimed at you. “Look,” you breathe, “I don’t know what’s going on, but please, I’m the only thing my mom has left. Please, please, don’t kill me.”

You stare right in his eyes, Y/E/C straight into olive green. It’s silent in the room aside from your heavy breathing and he just looks at you for what seems like forever. “One wrong move,” he warns, keeping the gun level with your head and with his other he reaches down, pulling a knife out of his sock. He points that at you as well and narrows his eyes before cutting you loose.

Your body doubles over and you clutch at your head, trying to will away the pounding. You can hear their movement around you, their low voices from the far side of the room, deep rumbling coming from both, but you can’t make it out. The darkness is creeping over you, but you can’t afford to sleep now, not when you know at least one of them has a gun and a knife and ready to spill your brains out without a second thought.

“What’s your name,” the gunman asks from across the room.

“Y/N,” you grit through your teeth, not bothering to uncurl from your fetal position in the chair.

“Where are you from?”

“Nevada.”

“Oh yeah, Vegas,” he asks with a snort.

“Yes, actually,” you reply, wishing you were home right now.

“Sin City, eh?” It’s surprising how easily his tone changed from a ruthless would-be killer to amused, playful dork. “What’s it like livin’ there?”

“Busy. Full of idiot tourists that call it Sin City.” That seems to shut him up, but gets a snort out of the other guy. You sit up, regretting it as another painful throb shoots through you. “You said there? We’re not there?”

They share a confused look and the taller one shakes his head, “We’re in Hastings, Nebraska.”

That has your eyes bugging and your stomach churning. You really don’t know how long you were out and you don’t know how you got to their hotel room, the men that you’ve been dreaming about all day, but you were sure it couldn’t have been more than an hour. “How,” you find yourself saying aloud, “How did I get here?”

“That’s million dollar question, isn’t it, darlin’,” the gunman quips. “We were hopin’ you knew.”

The taller one sighs and moves closer to you, his posture relaxing and inviting. “I’m Sam,” he offers. “This is my brother Dean,” he points to the gunman who waves the pistol around, a subtle reminder of his threat. “We… help people, like you, who are in danger or… you know, in your situation.” The look on your face was probably a skeptical one as your eyes flicker down to the rope that pooled around the chair you’re in. “We have to be sure sometimes,” he goes on to explain, “helping people comes with a price and that’s usually a bounty on our heads.”

“A big freakin’ bounty,” Dean chimes in, putting away his knife and tucks the gun into the back of his pants. He moves to the small kitchenette and pulls out a beer, popping off the top with ease and chugging it down.

Sam rolls his eyes and catches your attention again. “You look like you’re in pain,” he frowns. “Uh,” he looks around and eyes the couch. A few large strides and he’s in front of it, pulling off the cushions and finds the pull-out tucked inside it. “Maybe getting some sleep will help jog your memory? We’ll get you home in the morning.”

You’re hesitant, but you’re exhausted and the medicine he gave you hasn’t started to work its magic yet. So, reluctantly, you agree and climb into the bed. It smells slightly musty and the sheets look like they haven’t been changed in a while, but their have the ones on their beds. “Promise you won’t kill me in my sleep,” you ask through a painful yawn.

“No, ‘cause I keep my promises,” Dean answers you, which earns a frustrated sigh from Sam. “What? Just tellin’ her the truth.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Sam says from his place at the table.

You want to be kind and reply in turn, but sleeps grab you quickly and what you see next scares the shit out of you.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your dreams get a little harder to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some show-level violence here. I'll add that to the normal warnings from here on out.
> 
> I’ve got some wacky ideas of where I want to take this, but nothing too far off canon. Might turn into an ever-so slightly AU. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone's who is reading this. I appreciate you.

You’ve only had a couple of these dreams, but this is the first one where you’re moving. You don’t have control of your arms or legs, just stiff as a board and moving down an invisible moving sidewalk down a long, dark hallway. It’s a new suburbia home, plaster thin walls and laminate wood flooring, you’re sure it’d be a beautiful house in the daylight, but right now, as you edge closer to the room at the end of the hall, you feel a cold chill run up your spine.

The door is cracked slightly and you see the moonlight spill through, shadows from trees dance along the floor and every inch you move forward, the more you want to turn back. You don’t want to go inside that room, not now, not ever. If you go in there, you’ll die and you know it.

The door pushes the rest of the way open and you enter a little girl’s room. To right of you is a small table surrounded by chairs, three of them filled with stuffed animals and dolls, the fourth is left free, probably for the little girl. There’s more toys along the floor, spilling out of a toy chest against the far wall, play-time dresses and Barbies, and you’re feel a little nostalgia fight the ever-present dread bubbling inside of you.

But it's to your left where you see the little girl sleeping in a large, four poster bed, draped with a pink canopy, currently tied to each post. You move towards her and stop at her bedside and look down at her. She’s sleepy soundly, long lashes resting against plump, rosy cheeks and her mouth is pulled up in a smile as her baby soft, blond hair splays around her like a halo. She’s have a good dream, probably one about being a princess and ruling over a Candy Land. She’s a beautiful little angel and you smile down at her just before you feel a pull at your stomach.

Suddenly you’re not you anymore, you’re her. You shift in her bed and open your eyes, blinking away the sleep. Your body is suddenly shivering and the moonlight spilling through windows is blacked out by a crippling, dark presence. It moves from the closet, creeping across the room, to the bed and you try your best to scream as your heart pounds against your chest. You want your mommy. You want your daddy. You know in the back of your mind that they won’t come, that this is it.

A long, clawed hand appears from the darkness, its brother soon joining, crawling up the bed towards your fear frozen form. A head joins it, cloaked by a ripped and tattered robe, a circular mouth is the only thing you can see, a deep, dark tunnel lined with razor sharp teeth. You try to scream once more, but nothing comes out, and you can almost feel your voice chords snap with every attempt.

The claws dig into your flesh, raking down your body, ripping your skin as they go. Again and again they rip and tear and when the pink cotton sheets are stained with red, the mouth devors you whole.

And you wake up, screaming and clutching at your chest, covered in sweat. Dean and Sam are next to you in an instant, on red alert, guns at the ready. Sam sits at the edge of the pullout and tries to calm you down because you’re panicked and still screaming and that’s going to bring a lot of unwanted attention.

But you look down, your body’s fine, you’re still there and whole, somewhat. There are lines down your chest that you can see thanks to the low-cut tank top that you assume the old lady, or whoever dropped you off here, put you in. Four claw marks down your left, four down your right. They’re not open and bleeding, but they’re there. 

“Calm down, Y/N,” Sam tries, his large, warm hands on your shoulder. “Breathe with me.” Your wild eyes search out his and you sync up your breathing with his. “Good. Good,” he nods, “it’s okay, it’s just a dream.”

You shake your head furiously. “No,” you breath, “it’s not. I saw… there was this girl, this house, this… monster.” You curl your legs up and scrub your hands over your face, trying to hide the evidence of the dream from his view.

The brothers share a look over you and Sam frowns. “What girl?”

You let out a shaky breath and shrug, trying to forget the feeling of being ripped apart.

“What monster,” Dean presses, ignoring your potential meltdown. Your head snaps up and around to him, glaring through tear pooled eyes and you look at him as though he has two heads. “What did it look like?”

Your jaw drops and starts to flap like a fish out of water and you can tell that he’s serious. You close your eyes and force yourself to relive the nightmare, “Black, everything black, claws, mouth.” You can feel the pain along the claw marks on your chest and you hiss and the tears finally fall.

“Okay. Okay,” Sam interrupts, pulling you against his chest and trying to calm you once more. “Let’s get you some water, okay? Yeah?” You nod against him and he slips away causing you to curl up in bed once more.

They’re talking again in low voices as the sink in kitchenette starts up. It’s a heated discussion and they’re both upset, but Sam returns and gets you up, back with another round of medicine and you take it gratefully.

A chair slides near the table and Dean grunts when he flops down into it. The computer is still on and working and the clicks of the mouse tell you he’s searching for something. Sam does his best to comfort you, but he’s gone within minutes, taking over Dean’s search.

You’re afraid to fall asleep again, but you’re tired and the painful throbbing in your chest won’t stop. This is all so crazy and you want to ask what’s going on, but you figure they wouldn’t know either. So you lay there, listening to Sam type away, to Dean leaning back and sighing once more. “What did this monster do,” he finally asks, looking at the back of the couch where you lay hidden on the other side.

“Dean,” Sam warns.

“What? We gotta know what we’re up against. This thing has snatched four kids already, this could be number five,” he counters. 

“Eats,” you correct, not bothering to move from your safe space.

“Excuse me,” Dean grunts.

“He eats them,” you expand. “Claws ‘em up and then down the gullet.”

There’s silence for a few ticks of the clock and the typing starts up again. “How do you know that,” Dean asks and you can hear his bare feet cross the slightly sticky hotel floor. 

“Because I was her,” your voice library quiet. “I felt…”

The bed dips as Dean takes a seat on the edge. You dare to open your eyes and you see green, hard as steel look down at you. “Felt what?”

Your tears are falling faster now, but you fight back the sob in your throat. “Everything,” you answer, turning to hide away in the pillow. Dean must’ve wanted more answers, but you hear Sam clear his throat and nothing follows. He leaves your bed and joins Sam back at the table and they throw themselves into figuring out what the thing is and for the first time in the last two days, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

\---

You’re violent shaken and you jerk up to see Dean scowl down at you. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and we left you some hot water. Clean up,” he nods to the door across the room. 

You rub the sleep from your eyes and look around, it’s early morning and it’s just the two of you. “Sam,” you ask, scooting off the pullout and heading to the bathroom.

“Getting breakfast and your bus ticket.” He sees your confusion when your step falters and you look back at him. “We’re sending you back home.”

Your brow pitches and you snort, “What, no witch killing bullet for me?”

He’s sitting at the table once more, skinny bristled brush in one hand, pistol in the other. He doesn’t even bother stopping his cleaning to answer you with a shrug. “Don’t know what you are, but it ain’t a witch, just a chick with freaky dreams and the ability to teleport. Don’t see the harm in it.”

“I didn’t teleport,” you roll your eyes.

“Whatever,” Dean retorts, holding up the gun to look down its barrel, “still freaky.”

You scoff and disappear into the bathroom. You can’t complain about his attitude when he’s offering you a bit of hospitality and holding off on murdering you. It’s sweet, kind of. Not really. But the shower’s nice and brushing away the last two days with Colgate and a dollar store toothbrush makes you feel almost 100% better. Hell, there’s even clothes in there for you, albit they’re a little big. A white shirt, probably Dean’s, and a pair of gym shorts, definitely Sam’s as the ends nearly hit mid-calf, but you pull the drawstring tight and roll them up a little and you look like a 90’s hip-hop video reject. At least the scratches are hidden.

When you finally exit with a towel wrapped around your hair, Sam’s back with coffees and bagels, there were donuts, you were told, but the sugar on Dean’s lips tell you where they’d gone. “Your bus leave in a couple of hours,” Sam explains, handing you over the ticket. “We’ll take you to the station after breakfast.”

There’s hesitation when you nod, you can feel the tension in the room as you cream up your bagel. “It was real, wasn’t it,” you ask, knife stopping midway. 

“Her name was Angela Morris,” Sam says evenly, “her parents reported her missing this morning.”

Your jaw clenches and you close your eyes to steady your breathing and to hold back the tears. “And that… thing? It’s real, too?”

“Cuco,” Dean answers.

“I’m not crazy,” you frown.

Sam snorts and places a hand on your arm. “No, it’s called a Cuco, the Child Eater. It’s a legend in most Hispanic countries, written into lullabies to scare children into being good. You know, clean your room or the Cuco will get you?”

Your eyes practically bug out of your head. “That’s A plus parenting,” you cringe, suddenly not feeling very hungry. 

“Well, for every legend, there’s some truth to it,” Sam shrugs, taking your bagel and finishing the job for you.

“So, what? You’re going to kill it,” you snort, thanking him with a nod of your head as he passes your meal back to you.

“That’s the job, sweetheart,” Dean answers you, cocking the shotgun he was loading. 

Your gaze flickers over to him and he’s got a grin on his face. “You’re taking this far too well to know that you’re going up against a child eating monster,” you tell him, biting into the bagel, leaving cream cheese on your lips as you chew.

His grin grows wider and he leans forward, thumb swiping at your lips before he brings it to his own to lick off the smear. “Been up against far worse than a Spanish speaking Boogeyman,” he shrugs and gets up to load his guns in a duffle nearby.

You turn your attention back to Sam and he’s smiling, one that says he can’t believe they’re related, and gives you another pat on the arm before he helps his brother prepare. “So how do you kill it,” you ask, twisting in your seat to watch them.

“The thing hides in dark places. Hell, it’s made of dark,” Dean explains, “so, we find where it’s hiding, torch the place ‘til it comes out of hiding, then we pump round after round of graveyard dirt into it.”

“Graveyard dirt,” you reply with a slow nod of your head. “And how do you do that?”

He digs around in his pack before pulling out a clear shotgun shell and tosses it over to you. You try to catch it, but it bounces of your hand and then your arm before falling into your lap.

“Nice catch,” Dean snorts.

“Bite me,” you counter, holding up the shell to see dirt tightly packed into it. “This is terrifying.”

Sam’s next to you and holds out his hand for the shell, which you drop it immediately. “It saves lives,” he tells you with a sad smile.

You couldn’t argue with that. 

\---

You climb into the back of the sleek, black Impala and settle in the space in the middle. You’re suddenly reminded of your dream, the one with them driving in the countryside, the laughter rising between them. It’s nothing like now, however. They’re stone faced and focused, ready for the hunt.

They pull out of the hotel parking lot and head towards the bus station. You’re not supposed to leave for another hour, but they’re burning daylight as it is and they want get the thing before it snatches another kid, so you can’t blame them.

You check yourself in and meet them where they’re waiting outside, leaning up against the car. “Here,” Sam says, handing over a cheap, gas station cell phone. “Our numbers are programed in already. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

You laugh, taking the phone, “What’re you, psychic?”

He tucks his hands into his jean pockets and laughs along with you, “Not anymore.” You tilt your head and he shrugs, a half grin on his face. “It’s a long story, don’t worry about it.”

“You take care of yourself, alright,” Dean all but demands. “I don’t know kind of sideshow you are, but you’re not the bad kind.”

“That’s almost nice of you, Dean, thanks,” you smile sarcastically and he just grins again, another shrug from him. “But, uh,” you chew at your lip, tapping the phone against your leg, “thanks for, you know, not killing me last night. And be careful, okay?”

Dean rolls his eyes and looks away, while Sam swoops in for a hug. You squeeze him back, definitely needing it after the weekend you’ve had. When you part you take a deep breath and say your final goodbye. “When you shoot him,” you say before you go, “tell him that he’s an asshole. Angela and those kids deserved better.”

“They all do,” Dean agrees, giving you a mock salute as he pushes off the car and heads to the driver’s side.

“See ya’ around,” Sam smiles, moving to the passenger side.

You watch as the Impala costs out of the parking lot, they give you two honks and you wave in return before they’re out of sight.

\---

The bus only have a few people on it, an elder couple sat three seats ahead of you, a boy across the way, and a couple of men and women around your age sprinkled towards the back. It’s a quiet ride save for the boy who nervously asks you the sanitation of the bus bathroom.

He rushes to and from, telling you it isn’t as bad as he thought and you two fall into an easy conversation. He’s visiting his dad in Vegas and all his parents could afford was a bus ticket. You talk about school, he’s graduating high school next year and plans to go to Florida State and play baseball. You tell him about nursing school and your life at the cafe.

It’s early evening when you two fall silence and the gentle rocking of the bus starts to tempt you with sleep. There’s a dull ache at the base of your neck and you assume it’s the lack of food since your bagel that morning.

The boy, Jason, offers you a half of his PB&J, but you decline. He’s a growing boy and needs it. He shrugs and goes about his meal and you rest your head against the window, the cool glass fighting off the headache that you knew was coming.

—-

You’re drifting again, but not down a long hallway like the night before, this is just across a cluttered living room. You feel the panic and fear rise in you once more and you try your best to wriggle yourself free of whatever has you on lockdown, but it’s useless.

You push through the door and find two small boys, with dark floppy hair and tanned skin, sharing a bed. There’s barely any moonlight shining in, but you can tell the darkness in the corner is anything but ordinary.

Your mouth opens and you try to scream, to wake the boys up and tell them to run, but you can’t.

Instead, you’re in two minds at once, both boys waking up to see the shadow stalk towards them. Your bodies are shaking and lumps are in your throats, tears falling from two sets of eyes. 

The claws materialize from the darkness, two hands making way towards your bodies and all you can do is scream inside your own heads.

“Y/N!” You head Jason shout, it’s distant, but you hear it. He yells for you again and you feel him shaking you. You jolt awake, breathing heavily and looking around. The bus had stopped and all of the passengers had crowded around you, worried and a little terrified. “Are you alright? You were having a bad dream?”

You taste the bitterness of bile on your tongue, but you. You just need some fresh air, so you lead the way off the best and to the rest stop. Splitting from the group, you disappear into the bathroom and splash water on your face and rinse out your mouth. Your mind drifts to your dream and you try to shake it off, Dean and Sam were taking care of the Cuco, what you saw was…

Your hand fell to the waistband of the shorts and you pull out the phone and dial Sam’s cell.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Did you kill it?” There’s a heavy sigh on the other end and you can hear Dean say something in the background, that tells you all you need to know. “I think it’s after two little boys, twins. Um, they’re in an apartment or or or a small house.”

“What? How do you know-”

You cut him off. “I don’t know, okay,” you snap, leaning against the sink. “Just try to find them, okay? Because it gets them both.” You stare down at your feet and see fresh claw marks, violent red, along your shins.

“Okay,” Sam replies, “but that’s not a lot to go on. Did you see an address? Anything that would tell us where or who?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and reply the scene over and over until you see a picture of a man with a name underneath,” Garcia.”

“Y/N, there could be hundreds of Garcias in town, it’s a common name,” he sighs. 

“Garcia, twin boys,” you remind him. “There can’t be that many, right?” The old lady from the trip walks into the bathroom and gives you a wary smile, which you return. She slips into a stall and you lower your voice. “Sam, you need to get there before it gets late.”

There’s shuffling on his end and Sam gives Dean the rundown, telling him he knows there are tons of Garcias and he knows it’s not going to give them a lot to work with. But he’s on his tablet, searching anyway. “Two families with twins within the age range,” he mutters into the phone, “only one living in an apartment.” He gives Dean the address and the Impala’s engine rumbles loud enough for you to hear it through the phone. 

“Make sure you kill it this time,” you say quietly into the phone, hoping the old lady is old enough not to hear well. “And call me when you do.” You pause. “Please?”

Sam breathes a laugh, “Yes, ma’am.” 

You end the call and tuck the phone away, turning to relieve yourself when you see the old lady standing behind you, causing you to job. “Sorry,” you flinch, “I thought you were…”

“Two days and you’ve already got the hang of it,” she tells you with a pearly white smile.

“Excuse me,” you frown, blinking down at her. “What are you talking about?”

She reaches you and pats you on the arm, “The visions, dear. The headaches will stop soon, but the rest,” her blue gaze fall to the scratches on your legs, “that’ll only get worse.”

“Why did you do this?” You’re desperate for answers and you readily accept that this old lady can give them to you.

She squeezes your arm in a comforting sense and her lips twist into a small frown. “I’m dying,” she says once again. “And there must always be one of us. I wish I could tell you that you’re special, that it’s in your blood or part of your destiny, but it isn’t. You were the first person I found alone and it just had to be you.” 

You pull your arm from her reach and back away, your stomach turning in fear and confusion. “Make it stop. Find someone else.”

“It’s not that simple,” she sighs. “Once the spell is said, it cannot be undone. At least, not until you die, of course.” The thought your own death is too much and you stumble back into you hit the sink with the small of your back. “You’re going to do great, Y/N. You’ve caught on faster than I did. It’s going to be different from here on out. There’s something coming and those hunters of yours are gonna need you.” And with that, she seizes up and falls to the floor.

You’re frozen for a moment, processing everything she’s said and it makes your head spin. But you’re also now feet away from a dead body and it’s probably not a good thing. So you scream, you bolt of the bathroom and find the bus driver and the woman’s husband, telling them what happened.

And now you’re stuck at a rest stop as you all wait for the paramedics when your phone rings.

“Good news,” you greet the caller.

“You were right,” Dean grunts, “you wanna tell me how you knew?”

You roll your eyes and sigh, watching the EMTs wheel the old lady out in a bodybag. “If you pick me up,” you offer. “I’m at a rest stop just outside of Denver on I-76.”

“What about going home,” he asks as the trunk of the Impala slams closed, timing up with the doors of the ambulance. The EMTs drive off, in rush to get to the hospital as the old man cries in front of the police.

“I think you need my kind of sideshow,” you tell him, picking at a stray string on the shorts. 

Dean sighs and it’s not too longer after when you hear the Impala roar to life. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not be the most exciting chapter, but it’s worth it. Maybe. Unbeta'd.

The police come to question you as standard procedure. Of course, you don’t tell them about all the freaky crap she was spewing, but you tell them she walked out of the stall and fell, which wasn’t too far from the truth. You feel obligated to offer some sympathy to the old man, but he’s gone with the police, so you stay where you are and Jason finds you.

He asks if you’re okay and flops next you, silent and just trying to be a comforting presence. You both watch as the rest of the passengers start to gather their things and head towards the bus. He nudges you with your elbow and you shake your head. “I’m staying here,” you tell him, earning a confused look. “I’ve got some friends coming to pick me up.”

It’s dark and there’s not many people around, he’s worried about your safety, you can tell by the way he frowns and it makes your heart twist. He’s a good kid and you just wanna wrap yourself around him and protect him from the world. “I’ll be fine,” you assure him, getting up to give him a hug. “They’re just a couple hours out. I’ll head inside.”

He’s hesitant, but he eventually nods when you both pull away. “Be careful,” he pleads, grabbing his backpack from the ground. 

“Okay, Dad,” you groan dramatically and push him towards the bus. The driver triple checks with you if you’re sure you want to stay and you start to get annoyed with all the questions, but you smile and nod and they’re gone.

You wait in the rest stop, a large building with several restaurants and a gift shop, in addition to bathrooms and showers. The only place that’s open this late is the donut shop and even though you’re starving, you don’t have any cash or cards to get even a single donut or a crap coffee. There’s a gurgle from your body and you press your hands against your stomach, silently tell it to shut up.

The only one sitting in the building that isn’t working is you and it’s slightly unnerving to feel alone even though there are a couple people a few yards away. It was awkward just sitting there, staring at the table, looking like a hobo. 

You pull out of the phone the Winchesters gave you and frown at it, wishing that you had your own, at least you could keep yourself entertained. But all you had was the crappy flip phone and the stupid thing doesn’t even have Snake on it.

Sighing, you lay your head on the cool surface of the table and stare out of the window. 

You aren’t tired and no headaches were coming, you could just sit there and relax. You could, this is, if your mind wasn’t racing. The old lady’s words echo in your head and you’re slightly upset that she didn’t explain anything to you before kicking the bucket. And then you immediately feel bad for being so insensitive, but technically, she’s the one who gave you a magical STD with no way to cure for it but death. 

Not to mention it you are still trying to wrap your head around what happened in the last couple of days, the dreams, the Winchesters, watching those children…

You let out a long sigh and turn your head to press your nose and forehead against the table. It probably isn’t the brightest idea because you have no idea how clean it is, but you squeeze your eyes close and wish with all your might that all of this is just one, very long and vivid dream. But the rumble of the Impala pulling out front tells you that it isn’t and that you’re really foregoing home to go with two guys you barely even know. 

The engine shuts off and it’s not soon after that you hear two sets of boot scuffling and heading your way. A warm hand lands on your shoulder and you turn to see Sam’s soft smile. “Are you alright,” he asks, brows pinching together with concern.

“No? I don’t know,” you answer honestly and move to sit up. “I’m starving and confused and I wanna go home, but I don’t think I should.” 

He squeezes your shoulder and Dean makes his way to the other side of the table to flop down in the opposite chair. “I’ll get you something to eat,” Sam says and he’s off to the donut shop where they happily assist him, breaking up their dull overnight shift.

“What happened,” Dean huffs, hands in his coat pockets and lips slightly pursed as he looks you over.

You turn your attention away from Sam and wince, not wanting to think about it again, but you tell him about the dream on the bus and the old lady.

“So granny hits you with the voodoo because she’s dying and you start these dreams,” he sums up, trying to make sense of it himself, “and then she actually dies here, but it’s a different old lady, but could be the same old lady?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and whine, “Yes. It’s crazy, right? Like two steps from being locked up in the crazy bin, crazy.”

Dean sucks on his teeth and shrugs, “I’ve heard crazier. Look, we’ve got a whole room full of books that can probably tell you what’s going on and how to fix it.”

For the first time that weekend you look hopeful. “That’s… awesome. Yeah, that’s great,” you sigh, relaxing in your chair. “But I should call my mom. And my job. Maybe e-mail my professors.” And just like that, your shoulders tense up and your teeth start to grind.

“Relax,” Dean urges, taking his hands out of his pockets and holds them out towards you. “It’s better just to let them think you’re missing just in case…” he trails off when your eyes grow wider. “Look, you’re either in this life or out of it, there’s no inbetween. If you think you’ll want to go back home sometime soon, then we’ll take you the rest of the way tonight. But you’re caught up in something more than just your crazy psychic powers, alright? You know what’s out there, your life is gonna be different. Believe me, you probably won’t ever feel safe again. But we can protect you, teach you how to protect yourself.”

You’re staring at each other as Dean lets his words work their way through your head. He sees the wheels turning while his face remains stone straight. “Tell me what to do,” you pout, your head falling back onto the table with a loud thud.

He snorts and sits back once more, staring at the top of your head. “I can’t tell you what to do,” he says, “that’s one decision you gotta make on your own.” That earns an exaggerated groan from you and a grin that you couldn’t see from Dean.

“Hope you don’t mind an ham and cheese melt,” Sam rejoins you, putting down the breakfast sandwich down along with a water. 

You pop up and snatch the bag of food with a hum of thanks. Sam just smiles and opens the water for you as you all but devour the sandwich, nearly biting into the wrapper. 

“Guess we should have given you some cash, too,” the younger Winchester flinches, handing over your drink. “Sorry.” You mutter around your food and shake your head. “Maybe I should get you another sandwich.”

“Mm ‘ine,” you shake your head once again and swallow. “What I really need to know is if this is all worth it.”

Sam and Dean share a look, obviously having a silent conversation with their lips and eyebrows. “It’s your decision to make,” Sam finally says. You groan around the water bottle and he chuckles, “I guess that’s not what you wanted to hear?”

“Time to put your big girl pants on and do the adult thing,” Dean butts in. 

“Do I have to make a decision right now,” you frown, wanting to flop around on the floor like a child.

Sam shakes his head and Dean nods. They share another look and eyebrows wriggle and sassy faces are exchanged. “Just know that somehow, some way, someone might find out what you do and then you’ll put everyone you know in danger,” Dean explains, but it says more like a warning. “Maybe one day you can go back to them, make things alright, but you’ve gotta realize, you can’t be normal again, even if we figure out how to stop,” he waves hand in your direction, “whatever it is that’s going on.”

For some reason that hits you harder than anything scary old lady told you hours before. Dean had a point and a damn good one. If there’s a monster that eats children and a freak like you seeing crap in your dreams, then there are probably a million different dangerous things out there and you sure as hell won’t be able to sleep soundly at night, creepy dream visions or not.

“This sucks,” you decide, finishing off your sandwich and the rest of your water. “Can I at least get some clothes? Please?” You stand up from your chair and adjust the shorts you borrow from Sam.

They both rise and Sam nods, saying it’s the least they can do. 

Dean leads the way back to the Impala and you climb in the back as Sam takes the front. The car speeds out of the parking lot and towards one of the 24 hours stores, the kind that has everything. The three of you break apart and you search for enough clothes that’ll last a couple of weeks and hygiene products to keep you covered.

It takes about an hour, but the boys are waiting for you at the front and you go through the self-checkout line. Dean takes charge and swipes everything through, shoving all your intimates in a bag and t throwing it at you before he gets to the rest of the clothes. “You sure this is enough,” he asks, looking over his shoulder as he folds some jeggings. 

“You have washing machines, right?”

“We’re hunters, not neanderthals,” he rolls his eyes, tossing you another bag. “Just want to avoid anything awkward later.”

The receipt touches the floor when you three are done and you’re officially exhausted, but apparently you have about five hours, according to Dean, to get to their home. They allow you to flop into the backseat as they unload the cart and you stretch out with a loud yawn.

“No you don’t, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean growls when they finally slide in. “I don’t need you to have an episode while I’m driving.” He turns around and drops a necklace on your stomach, a small silver pendant on it on a black cord. “Put it on and keep it on,” he instructs and turns back to crank up the car. With a grin at his brother, he turns up the volume to whatever track is on the radio and sings along.

You slip on the necklace without a second thought and cover your ears. 

Sam looks back at you with a grin. “You get used to it,” he shouts over the music.

“I don’t think I will,” you yell back which only makes Dean sing louder.

\---

You pull into the bunker garage when the sun was just starting to come up. Sam helps you with your bags and Dean gives you the quick tour. “I’m here, Sam’s down there” he points as you stop in the middle of the hall, “You can have whatever room you want. Well, except those two.”

You just stare at him and he lifts a brow back at you. “I’ll take this one,” you decide, one not too far from Sam’s. They get you settled in and you immediately flop down on your bed. It’s been too long of a weekend and it’s only going to get worse, you’re sure of it.

But for now, you rest.

A very long rest without any dreams, thankfully.

You wake up to a knock on the door. “Chow time,” Dean hollars and knocks again. 

“Okay,” you croak, rolling off of the bed and make your way out. You’re still in the clothes they let you borrow, but you’re not changing without a shower. You pull open the door and Dean’s still there, grinning as he looks over your sleep rumpled form. 

“You good?”

“Better with food in me,” you yawn and follow him through the halls to the kitchen. There’s a small table with bags of fast food and you slump down next to Sam, your head falling onto the table.

Sam chuckles and pushes a few bags towards you, “We didn’t know what you liked, so we got a couple of everything.”

“Food is food,” you reply, pushing yourself to sit up and take the first burger you can get. “Thanks for all of this, by the way. I feel like I’m going to owe you big time.”

Dean falls into the chair across from you and shrugs, “It’s no big deal. You helped us.”

With that, you all dig in, no more words are exchanged as you stuff yourself into a near food coma. “I’ll never not eat again,” you decide as you start to clean up your mess and theirs.

“That’s probably for the best,” Sam smiles and helps you collect all the wrappers. 

“So, the plan is to get you washed up and hit the books to help you solve your problem,” Dean decides. 

“You’re going to wash me,” you tease grin, handing the trash to Sam.

“What, no,” Dean chokes on his beer. “Just sayin’ I’ll show you where to--” You and Sam are silently laughing and it visibly frustrates him. “Funny.” He hops up and heads down the hall.

Sam pushes you to follow him and you nearly trip over your own feet to catch up with him. 

“Shower’s at the end of this hall. It’s communal, by the way,” he’s grinning, “make sure the lock the door.”

“Tempted to join me,” you snort and head towards you room to grab the toiletries and an outfit the brothers bought you the night before.

“Only if you need someone to wash your back,” Dean calls after you and you pop your head out into the hallway to see him still there, grinning.

“At least buy me dinner first,” you shake your head, disappearing into your room again.

That earns a chuckle from him as he heads back to join Sam, “I just bought you lunch, sweetheart.”

You sigh heavily as you grab what you need for a well deserved shower. You’re realize going to have to deal with a lot more than monsters and you’re not sure what’s going to be worse.

\---

The library is amazing. You’re not a bookworm per se, but it’s impressive, quiet, and gives you a sense of peace. You found it on your own since Dean seems to have disappeared and Sam is already there when you arrive.

He looks up from the book he’s reading, gives you a smile and nods to the chair across from him. “These are all the books I found on physics, dream walkers, and astral projection that we have.” Your eyes bug out at several large stacks that line the table. “I work fast.”

You reach for the first one, a large, aged leather bound book and flip to the index. “I take it Dean’s not the researching type,” you grin, mentally marking the pages you need.

“He is when he needs to be,” Sam replies, distracted with his work. “But it’s kinda my thing.” You take that as a sign to shut up and you do. 

You find the silence between you comfortable, the only noise coming from the turning of pages. It goes on like for hours and you’re enjoying yourself despite being nose deep in boring texts.

Dean, of course, breaks the peace, stomping in with another beer in hand and takes his place by you. “Found anything useful,” he leans over your shoulder, trying to read along.

“Not really,” you clear your throat, inching away from him and he gets the hint. “Just a whole lotta definitions and no cure.”

“We don’t know if you can be cured,” Sam sounds like he’s reluctant to say it, but you all know it’s true. “But maybe we can find something to… suppress it.”

That was better than nothing. “Do what you gotta do,” Dean slaps you on the shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “So, I was thinking, even if we suppress your… condition, we still need you to know how to defend yourself. There’s always going to be someone out there that can undo any voodoo you do, so I can’t let you go until you know how to shoot a gun.”

You turn from your book and look at him with a full on frown, “Then what’s the point of this? If,” you pause to air quote, “‘someone’ is going to be coming after me, then this is just pointless.”

Sam finally looks up and matches your frown, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“I want to keep my family and friends safe,” you nod, still staring at Dean, “because he said that as long as I’m still a freak, that I can’t go back.”

“One, you’re not a freak,” Dean corrects, “ you just have freaky dreams… and not the good kind of freaky.”

“There’s a way to control this,” Sam tries to reassure you, ignoring his brother, “and you can definitely go back home. There’s some precautions we can take, but we’ll make sure you can be safe.”

Dean opens his mouth, but one bitchy look from Sam makes it close. “You guys are so confusing,” you groan, turning back to your book with your head in your hands. 

“Still wanna teach you how to shoot,” Dean grumbles, leaning on the table as he sips his beer.

“Good,” you grumble, “then I can totally, accidently shoot you.”

Sam’s smiling, but he hides away his book. 

“We’ll start with nerf guns then,” comes the gruff reponse next to you before he’s up and gone again.

“Can’t believe you two are related,” you turn the page and you hear a snort across from you.

\---

“There’s recoil,” he tells you, his body completely wrapped around you, positioning your arms and leveling the gun for you, “so you’re going to feel it, take it slow.”

His voice is muffled by the earmuffs, but you’re not paying attention anyway, all you can think of is how you got yourself into this mess and why won't’ he just move away from you. Not that you want him to because it’s nice to have a warm, hard body all up in your business, but this was a serious moment and one that could save your life or someone else’s.

“Squeeze, don’t pull,” he instructs, moving away from you now, but puts his hands on your shoulders and his thumbs dig into your traps, “and for fuck’s sake, relax.”

“You know, when you tell someone to relax, that only makes them not want to relax,” you snap, rolling your shoulders to get his hands off of you. He releases his hold, but moves next to you, eyes trained on your hands, large arms crossed his broad chest. “Squeeze, don’t pull,” you repeat and that’s what you do. The bullet at least hits the paper, but you feel the kickback reverberate through your entire body.

Dean smiles, nudging you with a fist and nods at the target. “That’s damn good first try, Y/N. Take your time, but give it another try.” You miss the paper entirely the second time, but he gives you words of encouragement, his voice gentle. “C’mon, relax and keep focused.”

You continue your lesson and manage to put holes in the body print on the paper, it would be enough to wound, but not kill. “My hands hurt,” you pout as he takes the gun away, “I don’t like shooting.”

“Like it or not, it’s a good life skill to have,” he takes your hands in his hand starts to massage each with his thumbs. 

“Life skill,” you scoff, “the world would be better without guns.”

Dean shrugs, “Maybe, but we have ‘em. They make killing bad guys a lot easier.” He digs deep into a knot in your hand and you hiss in return. “Better?”

“A little,” you fight back a moan. He runs the pad of his thumb over the spot and works out the kink. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything and continues his massage until Sam clears his throat in the doorway. Your hands are dropped immediately and you both turn to face the intruder. “I think I may have found something, but it’s going to take some time to prepare.”

“Already,” you blink in surprise, flexing your fingers, “wow, you’re good.” 

Sam smiles and shrugs, all dimples and bashfulness despite his towering presence. “It’s not going to cure you or even suppress… whatever you have, but it’ll give you a dreamless sleep as long as you keep taking it.”

It takes you a moment to realize what he’s getting at, but you nod, “No dreams, no freaky visions. So, it is like magic pill?”

“More like a gross potion, but same idea,” he nods. “We’ve got most of the ingredients here and when you get home, I can help you find a place where you get them, shouldn’t be too hard.”

Dean sighs behind you, “You think some goop in a bottle is going to be enough? She’s going to spend the rest of her life relying on some magical crack?”

You both turn to look at him, his face is sour. “Dean, you have no idea what’s she’s going through,” Sam pushes passed you, his voice tense. “I’ve been there, okay? It’s not fun seeing people die and it might just get worse.” You don’t want to think about it getting worse, but the way Sam is standing up at full height has you a little on edge. “And why are you suddenly okay with this psychic stuff, huh? If we had this kind of lore when I was going through it, you’d jump at the chance to make it all go away.”

“Who says I’m okay with it,” Dean spits in return, voice volume rising. “I want her fixed just as much as you do ‘cause we both know where this road goes. What if she starts to get immune to the potion, huh? What if she starts looking for harder stuff to make it all go away?”

You ping pong between them and you start to worry. “She doesn’t have demon blood in her, Dean,” Sam reminds him. “And she’s trying to stop using the powers, remember? She’s not trying to use them. And at least this is temporary solution ‘til we find a better one.”

You open your mouth to try and get a word in, but they’re relentless. “So you’re going to have her bubble up her cauldron every day and toss back a witch’s brew? Can you honestly tell me that’s the best option,” Dean growls, “she wants it fixed, it needs to be fixed - for good.” They’re close now, both with clenched fists and twitching jaws. You’re not the point of this conversation anymore, just an excuse. You’ve opened up a wound and you feel incredibly guilty.

“Then what you do expect us to do, Dean? What if we can’t find a permanent fix, huh? Are you going to put a bullet through her head?” Dean looks away, around the room, anywhere but you and Sam. “Oh, so this is what this is,” Sam lets out an unamused laugh. “You think this is some kind of redemption for you since you couldn’t save me?” 

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and stares at his younger brother, face unreadable. 

“We can’t brute force our way through this,” Sam says, voice losing all its edge. “Magic beats magic. If you want redemption, pick up a damn book.” He spins on his heel and stomps out of the room, probably back to the library.

Dean’s eyes finally fall on you and you look confused and terrified. “You okay, kiddo,” he asked, hestitantly making his way to you. “However this ends, we’re not going to hurt you, alright? We’ll figure something out.”

You’re not sure how you feel, but he places a hand on your elbow to lead you out of the shooting range. You get to the doorway when your eyes roll back into your head, a throbbing pain shoots through you, starting from your head. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean gasps, catching you as you fall limp against him. “Y/N? Hey, what’s wrong?” He looks you over and he can see the full whites of your eyes. “Sammy,” he shouts, “Sammy get in here.”

\---

You’re standing in the middle of a meadow, the wildflowers are in bloom and fluffy white clouds fill the sky. The warmth of the sun washes over you and the breeze whips around you to cool you off. 

You feel completely at peace and you want to stay there forever.

Whispers carry in the wind, gentle voices. “C' ah nog,” they say, as petals dance like faeries around you. “C' ah nog.” You feel the tickle of a curious honey bee on your arm. “Mgahnnn shuggnglui. C’ah nog.”

“Y/N,” you hear your name in the distance as the buzz of the whispers continue to twirl around you. “C’mon, sweetheart, wake up.”

“Mgahnnn shuggnguli.” The voices are growing louder, trying to drown out the gravely hum that’s so close but so far away. “Mgahnnn shuggnglui. Mgahnnn shuggnglui. MGAHNNN SHUGGNGLUI.”

You wake up with a start and look around, Dean and Sam are hovering over you. You’re drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, but they look relieved. “You scared us,” Sam pants, holding a rag to your head. “Are… you alright?” He’s wiping blood from your nose with the sleeve of his flannel, but makes no mention of it.

How are you supposed to answer that? You shrug and find yourself curling further into Dean’s strong hold. “Y/N, we need to get you to a hospital,” he’s telling you, not asking.

“I’m fine,” you rasp. “Just need to rest.”

Dean wants to argue, you can feel it as his arms flex around you, but Sam pulls a face to make him stop. “You wanna tell us what happened?”

“Bad dream,” you offer with a dry smile.

Sam shakes his head and Dean rolls his eyes and adds, “No one likes a smart ass.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You work on curing yourself with Sam. Dean isn't happy. Then you dance and get much needed cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood, cutting (not self-harm). 
> 
> Jealous!Dean. Protective!Dean. Music and dancing. Some bad words. Unbeta’d.

Dean doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the day while Sam works on the potion for you. **  
**

You keep telling Dean that you’re fine, but he doesn’t buy it. He’s obviously worried and upset, especially since you won’t tell him what you saw. Truthfully, you can’t make sense of it, so you can’t really tell him. Still, he doesn’t believe you and makes his job to keep an eye on you just in case something happens to you.

He sits you in the La-Z-Boy next to his and turns on the Netflix. He’s three seasons into American Horror Story and you try not to ruin his enthusiasm for it because the last thing you want to think about is witches, so you recline in the chair and watch him as he watches the show.

The hard lines of his face soften when he’s not in hunter mode, his shoulders slump a little more and his trigger finger doesn’t itch as much. He’s a normal guy, sitting here, watching crap television, and you get to witness it. “Freakin’ witches, man,” he mutters with a shake of your head.

“You’re telling me,” you sigh, eyes drooping and a small grin on your face.

His attention turns to you for a fraction of a second and he snorts, but it’s back on the screen. “Yeah,” he nods, obviously distracted, “fuck ‘em.”

Your quiet laughter gets him to grin and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s lost in the show once again and you curl up in the chair. Sleep pulls you in before you know it and it’s dreamless, thankfully.

When you wake, there’s a blanket draped over you and Dean’s right where you left him, but he’s asleep as well, snoring lightly. His lips are parted and his face is soft, if he was relaxed before, this is him completely zen.

If you could, you’d stare at him all day, but your bottom is sore and your legs are cramping, so you remove the blanket and close the recliner. The snapping of the footrest causes him to jerk awake and look around, finding you in the middle of getting up. “You okay,” he rasps, scrubbing a hand over his face to wipe away the sleep.

“Fine,” you tell him for millionth time that afternoon. You toss the blanket at him and it lands over his head giving you the freedom to stretch. Your arms reach up high and your knees lock before you bend down to touch your toes, a happy groan escaping you.

He’s got the blanket off of him and just stares as you take the time to get all the kinks out of your limbs. “Getting hungry,” he grunts, standing up and starts stretching himself.

“Lil’ bit,” you nod, not able to resist watching as his shirt stretches across his chest, or when his biceps strain against his sleeves. His shirt rises up just a little bit and you get a peek at his tummy. It takes all of your will to not reach out and poke it. “Pizza?”

“You read my mind,” he smiles, but it falters and he’s serious. “You can’t read my mind, can you?” You raise a brow, but shake your head and he looks relieved. “Oh thank god, okay.” He nods towards the door and you follow him out, heading to find Sam.

You find him in the War Room, one large book off to the side with bottled herbs and liquids in front of him. Dean simply says ‘pizza’ and Sam nods.

You pick up the closest jar when Dean leaves to make the call and it looks like a pickled… something. “This is going into my witch juice,” you grimace.

“I’m sure it tastes fine,” Sam grins and you do your best not to gag. “I’m not going to drink it unless you drink it first.”

That has Sam grimacing now and he looks around at the ingredients gathered. “I’m not the one who needs it,” he reminds you, trying to get himself out of the situation.

“This is going to kill me,” you hold up a container of some kind of eyeballs. “Would you actually take something with eyeballs in it?” His silence is your answer. “I mean, I guess you can still make the goo, but I think I’m going to keep looking.”

He honestly doesn’t blame you because none of it looks appetizing, but he’s been where you were and if it could stop the visions and the constant fear they bring, then he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. None of this is said, though, because he doesn’t want to think about it, that chapter of his life is over and he doesn’t like it that you’re there to bring it up again. Of course, it’s not your fault and you had no idea, so he keeps his mouth shut, but you see the emotions dance on his face.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” you put down the jar in your hand and try to give him your best smile. “Both of you. You don’t have to do any of this.”

Sam shrugs, returning your smile and runs a hand through his hair, “Of course we do. You need help, so we’re going to help you.” He’s so earnest and your face twists into some kind of way and you’re around the table and hugging him. It catches him off guard for a moment, but soon he’s got his arms around you, too, squeezing you tight. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. I promise.”

“Pizza’ll be done in forty-” Dean pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking at you two, confused. “Am I interrupting something?”

  
Sam’s the first to pull away, giving you a small smile before turning to his brother. “Nope,” he shakes his head and clears his throat, moving to triple check the spell in the book.

“Just a girl getting emotional,” you tell Dean.

“Yeah, which one of you,” he grins, chuckling.

“Funny,” you and Sam say in unison.

That melts the grin off of Dean’s face. “I don’t like this,” he points between you. “I feel like I’m being teamed up on.”

“Maybe you are,” Sam shrugs nonchalantly.

“Part of the master plan,” you add, picking up a dried flower and inspecting it.

Dean opens his mouth but shuts it quickly. “I’m going to go pick up the food,” he grumbles and stomps up the stairs.

You and Sam share a look before cracking matching smiles.

\---

You spend the next few days without incident and stuck in the library. Sam joins you to pour over the books again and you have a feeling you were going to come to the same conclusion as before. Sam tries to remain optimistic, but you’re not, you’re seeing the reality. “I don’t wanna drink eyeballs,” you grumble, pushing your book away.

“It’s not going to be forever,” he says weakly, but it’s no use, your face is green. “Maybe we can mix it with ice cream?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you think it over and hum thoughtfully. “Witch Brew Float,” you grin, “doesn’t sounds tasty.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, “No, it doesn’t.”

“Alright, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb,” Dean huffs as he enters the room, laptop in hand. “If you’re done with the comedy hour, I found a case.”

Sam’s brow pinches and he takes the computer from his brother, looking over the news stories that he collected. He’s lost in the new research and forgets your problem, at least for now.

“Want me to stay here,” you turn to Dean, spotting the cookie in his hand. “Where’d you get that?” He shrugs and shoves the rest of the treat in his mouth and his cheeks puff out with it, the biggest smile on his face. Your lips turn pucker and your brow furrows, “You know, it’s nice to share.”

“Looks weird,” Sam decides, “victims all drained of blood. Vamps, maybe?”

“Twilight or Interview,” you perk up, forgetting Dean’s selfishness for a moment.

Sam smiles but shakes his head, “Neither. I’ll pack.” He closes the computer and takes it with him, leaving the library to get ready for the trip.

“I want you to come with us,” Dean says once he swallows, tapping you on the shoulder.

The thought of being anywhere near a vampire has you immediately shaking your head, “I really like my blood, thanks, especially if it stays in my body.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “You know we wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You can keep researching your… situation. C’mon, you know staying in a shitty hotel and eating crap food is everyone’s dream come true.” You grin and shake your head and he pokes at your knee. “If something happens to you here, we won’t be here to help you.”

“You’re worried about me, that’s so sweet,” you coo and lean towards him, shoving at his shoulders.

He swats you away as you laugh, “Of course I’m worried about you. You’re our responsibility while you’re here.”

You click your tongue and get up from your chair, he follows suit, “And here I thought you liked me.” You head passed him and out of the library towards your room to pack. There’s no sense of arguing with him because you know he’s going to win.

“There are rules, though,” he says as he waltz into your room after you, flopping down on your bed. “If I tell you to stay, you stay, if I tell you run, you run.” You toss the duffle back onto the bed and start loading it up with clothes. “I’m giving you a gun and knife, you keep them on you at all times.”

You double check your toiletry bag and raise a brow at him, “Anything else, Dad?”

“Don’t call me that,” he winces. “Unless you wanna call me Daddy.”

There’s a visible shiver that runs through you, but you scoff, “I’ll pass.” But the attitude is no use, Dean caught you and he’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Luckily, though, he doesn’t say anything. “So, where are we going?”

“Duluth, Iowa,” he replies, pulling out one of your shirts to look at it. “Or just outside it.” You snatch it back, but not without a tug of war. “It’s gonna rain. You might need something warmer than that paper-thin shirt.”

You eventually win and shove it back into your bag. “What, like flannel,” you grin and he adjusts the green plaid he’s wearing. “Not really my style, Dean.”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe a nice black and red with some Daisy Dukes, you’d look just fine,” he winks.

“Doesn’t sound like rainy weather attire,” you snort, zipping up your pack and you push it towards him. “Besides, Sam gave me one of his hoodies.” With that, you search around your drawers and pull out a large grey sweater and tug it on. The sleeves fall way passed your hands and the bottom hits your mid-thigh. “Comfy!”

There’s a sour look on Dean’s face now and he snatches your duffle, “Let’s hit the road.” He stomps down the hall, passed his brother, and heads towards the garage.

“What’s his deal,” Sam asks when he joins you. You shrug and flap your sleeves at him, earning a grin. The two of you start to talk vampire lore on the way to the Impala, you climbing in the backseat, Sam in the front as usual. Dean doesn’t say a word, cranks up the car, and speeds out of the bunker like a bat out of hell.

The drive is a long one, so you quiz Sam about various monsters. It should be weird to talk about, but he makes it seem so normal and informative, you feel like you should be taking notes. “In a perfect world, I would major in monster mythos,” you grin, leaning up against the front seat, arms crossed and your chin propped up on top. “And you’d be my professor.”

“I could make you write an essay if you want,” Sam smirks, twisting to look at you. “Five pages due by Friday.” The thought makes you miss home, actually going to school. You were halfway through your clinicals in nursing school, so close to graduating, but all this crap happened. “Okay,” he sees your face all, “three pages.”

You punch his shoulder and sit back, knees curling to your chest and you shove the sweater down until it hits the top of your sneakers. “I’m going to minor in freaky psychic crap,” you say through a yawn.

For the first time in a couple of hours Dean speaks up, “Are you two done?”

“We’re just trying to have fun, Dean, or is that against your rules,” you roll your eyes.

“You’re treating this like a joke. This is serious, this is our life. All the crap that you’re laughing about can kill you, will kill you,” he growls, looking at you via the rearview mirror. “You need to stop messing around and take it seriously.”

You’re really not believing what you’re hearing and neither is Sam. In fact, the youngest Winchester laughs and earns the dirtiest glare from Dean because of it. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“Nothing,” Dean snaps, turning to the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam scoffs. They turn and look at each other, having another silent conversation that you wish you could understand it. “Whatever,” he says when they finished and Dean looks more pissed than he did when the car ride began.

You sigh heavily from the backseat, “You guys are so weird.”

\---

The all-night diner you find is small, but clean. Sam sits across from you in the booth while Dean goes to relieve himself. You look over the menu, the sleeves of the sweater getting in the way of your grip. Sam watches you struggle until he sighs and hold out his hands, wiggling his fingers to make you reach over. He’s folding up the ends when Dean returns, the older brother sliding in next to you with a sigh. “They have banana splits,” you tell Dean when one sleeve is done and Sam moves on to the next. “Wanna go halfsies?”

“Split a split,” Dean grins.

You wiggle your eyebrows and Sam slaps your wrist to tell you he’s done. “Thanks, Sammy,” you beam and move your arms around a little, glad they’re not blocked by cotton anymore.

Dean looks between you two and both of his brows are raised high, “Oh, so he’s Sammy now?”

“Uh,” you draw out, confused.

“Forget it,” Dean sighs and grabs the menu that sat in front of you as the waitress came over for your drinks. Two waters and a coffee, he grunts at her, not bothering to look up.

Sam thanks the poor women and kicks his brother under the table. That earns him a kick back from Dean and they’re glaring and making you uncomfortable. “Do I need to separate you two,” you try to break the tension.

“No,” Dean snips, “do I need to separate you two?”

You laugh and tap on the table with your knuckles, “We are separated.”

The waitress interrupts anything that Dean is going to say to take your order. Sam gets the veggie burger, yourself and Dean get the bacon cheeseburger.

There’s an uncomfortable silence between the three of you now and since you’re the only customers in the diner, you can’t readily talk about the case. But you spot a jukebox at the other side of the room and you nudge Dean, holding out your hand, “Gimme a quarter. Well, gimme a lot of quarters.”

He looks at you and then the jukebox, hesitating. Your hand starts poking at his arm and he finally gives in, shifting until he can get to his pocket, pulling out a few coins and hands them over. “None of that pop, boyband crap,” he warns you as you all but shove him out so you can get up.

You can feel his eyes on you as you stand in front of the machine, flipping through the albums. You’re not sure how long this place has been open, but it hasn’t updated its music selection in quite a while. You dump all the quarters in and punch a bunch of numbers in, getting three into queue and wait until the music plays overhead.

The acapella begins and [The Chords](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBgQezOF8kY) begin to serenade you. Your hips sway side to side and you spin, facing the brothers are you begin to mouth the words, snapping your fingers on beat. Unfortunately your shoes and the floor don’t agree and you can slide over, but you continue to sway, Sh-booming all the way to the table.

Whatever tension that lingered is gone. Sam smiles and shakes his head as you give him a wink, but you slide in with Dean, leaning against him, telling him that life could be a dream. He’s keeping a straight face, but he doesn’t move away from you nor does he tell you to stop.

You sway in the chair until the song fades and the second starts. [The humming starts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8j4mn4eF-c&list=PLuK6flVU_Aj45QZ_A5ld0-pP3CIkoNQDk&index=45) and you join in, hands clapping and bouncing in your chair as the beat increases. Sam’s now bobbing his head along and you beam at him around your singing. Your shoulders bump into Dean’s, and while he doesn’t join on the dancing, the corner of his mouth is twitching.

Even the waitress is getting into it, bringing your food with her head bobbing and hips swamping. “Good picks, darlin’,” she winks at you and dances off when everyone gets their plates.

You reach over Dean and grab the ketchup before he can, squeeze a good heap onto your plate for your fries. The song fades and your last [starts up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9qAwNNY5UY&list=PL5PPctPwu7YVG2S4hMCnmuvlLXC3VRzkb&index=67) as you pass over the bottle and start in on your food. Even with burger in your mouth, you sing and sway, Sam joining in only when he knows the words.

Halfway through, you turn and see Dean’s fingers tap against his burger as he lifts it to his mouth. When he catches you catch him, he pauses but quickly winks at you before he takes a bite.

The song finishes way before you guys are done with your meal, but it leaves you in a good mood. There isn’t time for a banana split like you want, but Dean gives you a raincheck and gets a coffee to go. You all do your bathroom thing and you head out to the Impala, humming and skipping to yourself.

Dean’s the first one out and he opens your door for you and you bow low, thanking him. He just shakes his head and you climb in, working on undoing the rolling Sam did to your sleeves. “Thanks for the meal,” you lean over the frontseat when Dean gets in. “Now I know how to make you not so grumpy.”

“I wasn’t grumpy,” he grunts, turning slightly to face you. You raise your brows. “Maybe I was a little grumpy.”

“You look so much better when you smile,” you confess, “but you also look good angry. But not as good as when you smile, like I said.” He doesn’t react and you start to freak out a little because you think you’ve overstepped a line, but then he’s grinning like an idiot. You slap him with your floppy sleeves and he’s chuckling, but it dies down when Sam climbs in.

With bellies full and spirits uplifted, the rest of the drive is pleasant.

\---

It’s around three in the morning when you find a motel on the outskirts of Duluth, two queens and a pull out. Sam offers to take the couch bed, but they’re all pretty crappy, so you wave him off and work on getting out the creaky mattress.

But it’s difficult. Dean tries after you. Sam tries after him. It’s not budging. Fine. You toss the cushions back on the couch and get it ready for sleep.

“You’re not sleeping on that thing,” Sam sighs.

You laugh and unfold the spare blanket you found. “Well, you’re definitely not,” you counter. “And Dean just drove eight hours, he’s not, either.”

“Fine,” Sam relents. “Then share with me.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “I don’t need you two lovebirds doing… whatever it is that you do when the lights go out.”

You and Sam share a confused look. “There’s nothing going on between us,” Sam admits first, but it doesn’t seem to convince Dean. “I swear.”

To help, you hold your hands up and nod. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll share with you,” you offer.

Dean hesitates, fingers rubbing against each other and his jaw ticks, but he nods in agreement. “Okay, fine,” he huffs.

You roll your eyes and call dibs on the shower. Being such a considerate person, you keep it short and pop open the door when you brush your teeth. Your hair is wrapped in a towel and you decide to keep Sam’s sweater on, forgoing any clothing under other than your undies.

Sam’s at the table, his command center already set up, and Dean’s at the foot of the bed he chose, going through his things, next to shower. “All yours,” you chirp, falling onto the bed with a sigh.

“Any hot water left,” Dean grins, looking up from his toiletries to find your bare legs stretched out from the bottom of his brother’s hoodie. His face falls for just a moment, but he puts the smile back on.

“Plenty,” you snort and snuggle down on top of the sheets. “But you gotta be nice and give Sam the same courtesy.”

“What are you, his mother hen,” he rolls his eyes and slaps you on the bottom of your foot. You kick back at him, but he’s well out of your reach. “Don’t fall asleep with that towel on your head, you’ll get a headache.

“Who’s the mother hen now,” you quip and sit up, undoing the twist atop your head and let it all fall down. He laughs and disappears into the bathroom and you move to sit by Sam. You start asking your questions again, learning how to piece together the mystery of the hunt and what’ll take to finish it.

You find it fascinating and you can listen to Sam ramble on about lore for hours, but your eyes start to droop and you have to hold your head up with your hand.

Your eyes close soon, though, and he starts to talk to himself, soft mumbles about victim names and their deaths. It’s not exactly the best bedtime story, but it gets you on the edge of sleep.

What wakes you is Dean exiting the bathroom, dressed in a simple shirt and sleep pants, hair still wet and skin slightly pink from the warm water. “Bet that’s not the first girl you bored to death, Sammy,” he jokes and gets a pen thrown at him by his brother.

“Not dead yet,” you yawn, getting up from the table and stretching. The sweater rides up, just between your behind and Dean’s laughter falters. “I’m going to bed.” You climb under the covers as Sam gets ready for his shower and Dean joins you shortly after. He does his best to keep to his side of the bed, but you’ve seen him sleep before, your very first vision, and you know he stretches out during the night.

“Night, Y/N,” Sam says before he slips into the bathroom to clean up.

“Night,” you mumble, more to Dean since he’s the only one that can hear you now that the shower’s on.

“Night,” Dean says back, voice soft and hesitant.

You roll onto your stomach, smashing you face into the cheap, thin pillow, and you snort, one eye open as you stare back at Dean. “Go to sleep,” you whisper.

“You first,” he whispers back, but closes his eyes anyways.

“Dork.”

“You’re a dork.”

And finally you both fall silent and asleep.

\---

You can’t move, but this is different from the times before.

You’re strapped down, mouth gagged and eyes blindfolded, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to scream for help or get free somehow.

There are voices around you, muffled and speaking in some language you don’t understand.

Then you feel it, the pinching, pressing pain of the knife against your left wrist and then the warm, wet feeling of your blood leaving you. You scream against the gag, but there’s no sympathy from your captors. There’s a cut to your right wrist and your scream comes again, albeit a little weaker.

The voices grow louder and you start to lose feeling in your hands, your skin is colder, but you struggle against your restraints. Your heart bangs against your chest, but that just makes the blood spill out of you faster.

A hand places itself gently on your chin, tilting your head back. The voices are now chanting, loud and closer. You feel the knife rest against your pulse point, the hand that grips you is tighter now, keeping you in place as the blade cuts against your throat. There’s no point of screaming now, but you try anyway and feel the warm gush fall across your neck.

You wake up screaming, clutching at your neck.

Dean is up immediately and has his arms wrapped you as you shake and your throat is completely raw, which means you most likely woke up the entire building. He’s doing his best to calm you down, whispering to you, clutching you to his chest. “Hey, hey, you’re fine,” he mutters, nosing at your ear, lips brushing against it as he speaks. “Calm down, sweetheart, you’re here with me and Sam. You’re fine.”

Sam grabs a glass of water and sits on the edge of the bed, hovering until you calm down.

It takes quite a bit, but your breathing evens and the shaking stops. Dean doesn’t want to release you, but you eventually pull back enough to take the water Sam offers you. They allow you to collect yourself and it’s clear they want to ask what you saw, but they resist the temptation for now.

You feel Dean’s eyes burn into your skin and then he reaches for your hand, gripping your wrist hard and brings it to his face. “What is this,” he frowns. There’s a long violent red line across your arm, exactly where you felt the knife go. It’s just like the Cuco, you’re sure it’s from the dream.

“I don’t know,” you answer honest, trying to twist out of his grip.

Sam mutters his brother’s name and nods to you, motioning to his own neck. Dean takes your face in his hands and forces your to tilt your head back. “What the hell,” he mutters when you slap him away. “That definitely wasn’t there before.”

“It’s fine,” you snap, shoving the water back into Sam’s hand and trying to get away from the both of them.

“It’s not fine,” Dean growls, wanting to pull you back to him, but you’re off the bed in no time and over to the couch. “You’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you insist. “Just… does in the dreams, they’re fine now.” You brush a thumb over one of the marks.

Sam is the one that joins you, sitting on the far end of the couch to give you space. “Even if it’s in the dream, Y/N, if this gets stronger, it can hurt you out of it, too,” he said gently. “If it’s leaving marks, who knows when it can start to make you bleed?”

“Then why am I here,” you snap. “I should be back at the bunker, looking for a way to stop this.”

Dean’s up now, too, pacing along the back of the couch, one hand on his hip, the other scratching at his stubble. “You know why,” he says absently and looks at his watch. “Sam, get some sleep.” He gives his brother a look before he even object.

Sam tries to give a sympathetic smile and heads to his bed, knowing they need the sleep if they’re on the case.

You don’t bother to look up even as Dean takes his place next to you. “I didn’t see anything,” you tell him, still staring at your arm. “I… He… She… was blindfolded. I heard voices but they weren’t speaking English. Or any other language, really, it’s like they made it up.” Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and Dean gathers you in his arms again, his hold is tight and comforting. He’s a solid reminder that he’s there and you’re awake and safe.

The pair of you stay like that for a while, not talking, not even bothering to look at each other, just you feeling Dean, your head pressed against his chest, the steady rhythm of heartbeat thuds against your ear. If you weren’t afraid to close your eyes, you’d go back to sleep, but you don’t want to risk it.

You twist slightly, looking up to see Dean’s eyes closed, his face relaxed, but his hold is firm. “Dean,” you whisper, shaking him a little. “Dean.” He groans and turns his head away from you, snuggling into the couch and pulling you back to rest against him. “Dean,” you say firmly and you use all your strength to pull away from him.

He grunts, but loosens his grip. When you slip away, he curls in on himself and peaceful once again.

You tiptoe to the bathroom and grab yourself another cup of water, downing it in only a few chugs. The marks on your arms and neck are still a bright red, extremely noticeable in the light. When you look at them, you can still feel the pain of the knife, the hot, sticky blood run out of you.

You turn on the cold water and splash your face, trying to wash away the dream and the thoughts it brings. When you straighten, you look at yourself in the mirror and behind you in a shadow, tall and wide. It’s humanoid in shape with no features or mouth, but you hear it when it speaks, a deep, booming echo in your head, “C' ah nog. Mgahnnn shuggnglui.”

And then you scream. Again.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You help Dean get pizza and possibly help solve the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very light smut-ish. Mentions of abortions. Unbeta’d.
> 
> Bear with me for this chapter, it’ll start to come together soon. And don't worry, the next chapter will pick up where this leaves off.

The door is kicked open with Dean and Sam standing at the ready with their guns. 

You’re still standing at the sink, staring wide eyed into the mirror, but the figure is gone. Once again, you’re shaking and when the boys realize that there’s nothing there, it’s Sam who collects you and leads you out of the bathroom and towards the bed you’re sharing with Dean.

“I’m going crazy,” you mutter, head in your hands, elbows on your knees as you try to regulate your breathing. “I’ve lost my goddamn mind.”

Sam does his best to try to comfort you, his large hand rubbing at your back while Dean triple checks the room with the EMF meter and checks for sulfur.

“It’s not here in the room,” you tell Dean, looking up to see the worry lines deepen on his face. “It was in the mirror or in my head. Maybe both.”

Dean flops down on the opposite bed, coming face to face with you and he’s dead serious, “You need to tell us what’s going on.”

Your jaw clenches and your nostrils flare, you can’t decide whether you’re scared or pissed off, “I would love to know what’s going on, Dean. If I knew what was going on, then I wouldn’t be here.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” he snaps and Sam stiffens next you, clearly not liking his brother’s tone. “Your dream, the marks, whatever happened in the bathroom.”

“I told you, I was blindfolded in the dream, I can’t tell you anything more than that,” you’re growing more frustrated by the second. “And that,” you point behind him, “I don’t know what that was. It was this big,” you hold out your arms and wave them, “black… thing. It was talking to me but it wasn’t talking to me.”

Dean looks like he has a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He makes his face unreadable and leaves it up to his younger brother to deal with it for now.

“What did it say,” Sam asks, voice gentle and encouraging. His hand removes itself from your back, but he moves closer to still provide his calming aura.

You shake your head and you squeeze your eyes tight, trying to teach your mouth what you heard. “Cah- aaaaah nnn- ooog,” you wince, “Mmm- gaahh- nnn shu- shu- ggnng- lui?”

Dean scoffs and gets up to get ready for the day, “Are you clearing your throat?”

“That’s what it said,” you want to yell, but it comes out as a wavering whine. 

Sam ignores his brother and heads to his computer to write down what he could. “We have to go to the medical examiner’s office,” he explains when Dean disappears into the bathroom with his suit in hand. “But as soon as we get back, I’ll look into this the first chance I get.”

All you can do is nod, “So, what am I going to do while you’re gone?” You scoot further onto the bed and criss-cross your legs, trying to get Sam’s sweater to swallow you with comfort. The thought of being alone worries you, not that they could do much for you anyhow if the last 12 hours proved anything. 

“You can relax,” he offers with a strained smile. “Watch Netflix on my computer or I think the hotel gets HBO, order a pizza.” It’s an attempt to keep your mind off of everything, but you both know it’s useless. 

“Double pepperoni,” you decide, playing along with the idea. You trade grins and he eventually switch places with Dean to get ready. “Your tie is crooked,” you say in a way of an apology when you catch Dean’s eye and get up on your knees, waddling to the edge of the bed. He stands there, straight-faced and stares down at you as you loosen the knot, get it lined up properly and tighten it once more.

He reaches up and curls his hand to the side of your neck, his thumb running along the edge of the red line cutting across it. “I dealt with this once,” he says quietly, mouth twitching, “and I didn’t know what to do then.” You place your hand over his, wrapping your fingers around it and squeeze him gently. “And I still don’t,” he lets out shakily. “This shit scares the hell out of me because there’s nothing I can do. Guns can’t fix it.”

You can see the worry etched on his face, the fear in his eyes and yours probably mirrors it. But it’s the underlying meaning that clenches your heart and you’re unsure of how to feel. Dean’s a good man and he means well even if he goes about it the wrong way sometimes. He’s fierce and loyal, caring more about other people than himself. You haven’t known him long, but you know he cares about you and it’s hard not to feel the same for him. “I think wanting to fix it is enough for me.”

He finally looks up from the mark on your neck and into your eyes. You finally understand all the conversations he has with Sam. One look from Dean when he’s this vulnerable and you can read him like a book. 

When he realizes he’s exposed and he moves his hand from your neck to your cheek, silently asking for permission. You nuzzle into his hand and turn to press a kiss to his palm. It wouldn’t end well, you both know it and it hurts so damn much to think about. 

But it would be worth the ride.

You smile, one full of promise, and he returns it, running his thumb along your bottom lip and the bathroom door opens. Dean sighs and drops his hand and you fall back down onto the bed. 

Sam doesn’t react to the pair of you parting, just works on the cuffs of his shirt. “We shouldn’t be long,” he assures, reaching for his jacket. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Okay, Mom,” you roll your eyes and he sneers playfully at you. “I’ll be fine.” They’re both suited up and getting into fake-Fed mode. “You two be safe. Have a great day. I’ll have lunch when you get back.” You lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling to plan your day.

Sam’s out of the door but Dean lingers in the room and you pop you head back up to look at him. He’s got a can of salt and starts to line the windows and door. “Dean,” you sigh.

“Just in case,” he frowns. “For me.” 

How can you argue with that? You can’t and you don’t. “Hurry back,” you smile. He returns it and is gone when the last saltline closes.

\---

HBO is a bust. 

You’re still on the bed, finally dressed for the day with a nice, comfy pair of jeggings and a stolen blue and white flannel from Dean’s bag. Sure, you told him that it wasn’t your style, but this was your way of having him there and physical proof of your silent agreement.

It’s been five hours since they left and you’ve already watched Rogue One, The Land Before and nearly done with Mulan on Sam’s laptop. You’re stretched out in a nest of every pillow in the room, completely relaxed and zombied out. Like Sam wanted, you’re doing your best to forget the last 24 hours.

And then they come stomping in, Dean looking confused and frustrated, eyes immediately seeking yours. He notices the shirt and his face softens a bit, but Sam enters after him, beelining to take back his computer.

“So,” you prod.

Jackets are off and sleeves are rolled up, it’s research time. “New vic found last night,” Dean informs with a heavy sigh. He’s sitting across from Sam at the table, staring down at it like he’s avoiding looking at you. “Both were drained of their blood, cut at the wrists and neck.”

You sit up and look between them, neither take the bait, “Oh.”

“No leads. No evidence,” Dean continues. 

“So we find a connection between them,” Sam finishes. “Enemies, mailman, Twitter followers.”

You suddenly feel guilty. At least with the last case you were able to give them something to work with, but all you have to go on are faceless voices and a few cut-like marks on your body. Right now, you’re nothing more than a parasite leeching off of them and getting in the way. 

“But that only covers the who, we also need to know the why,” Dean reminds his brother. “If it’s done like Y/N’s dream, then maybe it’s for some kind of ritual? Witchcraft, demonic?”

“There were a lot of people in the room,” you butt in, snatching up a pillow to hug to your chest. “Well, not like a lot, maybe around 10.” You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to remember anything else that could help. “The knife had a smooth edge, couldn’t have been any longer than five inches. I was strapped down and gagged.” And that’s all you can give for now and when you open your eyes, they’re both staring at you, concerned. “I’ll try to get more next time.”

Dean’s face hardens and he shakes his head, but what can he say? There’s no way to stop it, especially when you don’t have the witch juice ready. “We’ll do the work, alright,” he says instead, “you’re officially on vacation.”

“I just started the job, Dean,” you remind him, “I don’t have any time off saved up.”

“Enough,” he snaps, “we’re handling this case. You focus on you. Pick up yoga and meditate, get your head clear.”

You’re half tempted to argue because now you’re being treated like a child, but they, unlike you, know what they’re doing. “I like yoga pants,” you shrug and move from the bed to the couch since Netflix was stolen from you. 

As your channel surfing begins, they start piecing together the puzzle. Apparently the latest victim was a out of state student and her parents would be flying in the next day from Wyoming, so Sam starts widening his search to both states and all the ones in between for any kind of connection.

“I remember you promising us lunch,” Dean says quietly into your ear causing you to jump. 

He’s laughing and you turn to hit him in the shoulder, “What are you, a ninja? And yes, I did, but I have no money.” You kneel on the couch to face him, “Unless you’d like me to pay the old fashion Skinemax way?”

That sobers him up a bit and he narrows his eyes, “I’ll go get it. You comin’ with?”

You jump at the chance to go out after being stuck in the hotel all day. Your shoes are on in record time and you’re out of the door towards the Impala before Dean can change his mind. 

He passes over his phone once you get in the car and you start looking for the closest pizza joint. There’s one not too far from the motel and you set the map to give you directions before settling it between you. The side eye he’s giving you doesn’t go unnoticed, it’s obvious he wants to say something. “What?”

“What?”

You roll your eyes and turn in the seat to face him slightly, “What?”

“There’s no what,” Dean shrugs, his eyes properly back on the road. 

“There is a what,” you snort. “Just say it.”

He shakes his head, “What kind of pizza do you want?”

“You’re horrible at this, you know,” you tease and twist back to sit normally. 

“This,” he repeats questioningly, sneaking a peek when he thinks you’re not looking. 

This time you shake your head and watch the town slowly pass you by, “Double pepperoni and mushroom.”

“Now you’re avoiding this,” he frowns and takes a left when the voice tells him to.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you counter, spotting a dog being walked and do you best to catch every second you can. You hear him mutter ‘whatever’, but he doesn’t sound frustrated or annoyed. When you pull into the parking lot of the pizzeria, he just shuts off the car and looks at you expectantly. “What?”

“What,” he returns again, eyebrow raised and a grin on his lips.

“Are we in high school,” you laugh.

He grabs your hand and coaxes you to slide across the bench seat, “We can make out in the backseat like we’re in high school if that’s what you’re into.”

You’re pressed up against his side, his arm pinning you against him and there’s only inches between your faces, “I thought we came for food?”

“We can kill some time while they make it,” he chuckles, nudging your nose with his.

Your eyes are locked with his and his smile mirrors your own, “Then go order the pizza.”

He quickly detangles himself from you and practically skips into the restaurant. 

You don’t move into the backseat, but you stay in the middle of the front and wait. You’re half tempted to use Dean’s phone to entertain yourself, but it would feel like an invasion of privacy, so you settle for people watching. It’s passed lunch, but people are still coming and going from the local pizzeria, several teenagers that most likely just got out of school. Some even stop to admire the Impala and you smile awkwardly when they look in.

Dean returns not ten minutes later, sliding all the way over to you and pulling you back against him. You laugh and he grins, leaning in to press his forehead against your shoulder, “We’ve got about twenty minutes to kill.”

“Yeah, so how do you want to spend it,” you smirk and he lifts his head to smile brightly at you.

“I can think of a couple of ways,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

One of your hands latches onto his shirt, the other reaches up to touch his stubbled jaw, “You haven’t even taken me on a date, Winchester.”

He leans into your touch, turning to kiss each of your fingers, “What do you think this is?”

“Sitting in your car waiting for pizza is not a date,” you snort.

“I’m working with what I got,” Dean says a little defensively, but kisses down your palm and then along marks that still line your wrist. “But I’ll wine and dine you when we finish the case.”

“You still owe me a banana split.” Your hands find themselves in his hair, twisting the short locks between your fingers. 

He looks up and smiles, coming back up to your face to hover just a breath away from your lips, “Baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your skin heats up and your heartbeat quickens, he can tell what he’s doing to you and it just makes him preen. “Don’t sweet talk me,” you warn but close what little distance there is between you. His lips are soft against your, warm and so very inviting. You’re not sure who groans, but you feel it all the way to your bones.

His arms wrap around you completely, pulling you impossibly closer and both of your hands dig in his hair as the kiss deepens. You’re fairly certain that you can hear muffled giggling outside of the car, but you couldn’t care less. 

He licks into your mouth and you readily accept him, tasting coffee on his tongue. Just as you imagined, he’s passionate and eager to please, kissing you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and it leaves you dizzy and breathless. 

You part long enough to catch your breath and he’s biting at your lips, kissing at the corner of your mouth. He’s got your stomach in knots and at some point you had released his hair just to hold on for dear life. 

“You’ve got me seein’ stars, sweetheart,” he whispers against your chin. 

You kiss his cheek and laugh breathlessly, “I’ll get you to see more than that.”

That earns you the dirtiest growl you’ve ever hear and he’s crowding you once more, his mouth devouring yours. Both of your hands are exploring now, his is shoved up under the flanel you borrowed and your nails are digging into his chest. 

He leaves your mouth and bites down to your neck, nosing along the mark left behind by your dream. “I hate this,” he sighs, kissing every single inch of the line.

“Sorry,” you mutter, tilting your head back with your eyes squeezed closed. 

“Not your fault,” he tells you, “gonna help you. You scared the hell out of me last night.” You apologize again and he backs away, staring at you with those forest green eyes that are half focused, “Baby, don’t ever be sorry. I’ll fix this for you, I promise.”

You cup his face and bring him in for a soft, sweet kiss. “Even if you can’t, I’ll deal with it,” you assure him. 

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, “I better go get the food.”

You nod, but neither of you move, just stayed wrapped up in each other and sharing small, quick kisses. And although his hand has left your shirt, he can’t help but to touch you, his large hand on your thigh, running it up and down with intent. “Food,” you remind him, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.

“God,” he groans and forces himself away from you. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you quip and it’s got him kissing you all over again. You allow it just until you can’t breath and you push him away. “Go.”

He hesitates, but Sam’s probably hungry and he’s the one working hard, so Dean finally gives you up and he’s gone again. 

You slip out of the Impala and stretch your legs, trying to calm yourself so you don’t spend another 20 minutes with Dean’s hands all over you when he gets back. Not that you wouldn’t mind, but you’re hungry so that means they must be starving.

Your people watching starts up again as you lean against the back of the car. You see the same dog you saw earlier and smile, watching it trot along in front of its owner, tail wagging, happy as it can be. But you catch a movement out of the corner of your eye, it’s a quick, darting figure and you’re too slow to catch it before it’s gone. You’re not sure of what it was, but it couldn’t have been a bird or person, just a big, black… thing that’s got your hair standing up.

Dean returns with pizzas in hand and a smile on his face until he sees your shoulders tense and your eyes darting around, “What’s wrong?”

You jump at his voice and that only makes him more worried, “What? Nothing. That smells good.”

The food is put in the backseat and he comes around to you, pinning you against the car with his hands on either side of you, “No, if we’re going to do this, you need to be honest with me.”

“Dean,” you sigh, but the glare that’s coming from him makes you stop any lie or excuse you were trying to come up with. “I thought I saw something,” you admit. “Like the thing in the bathroom, just big and dark and it was really fast.”

Taking you seriously, he looks around, up and down the street, the alley between the stores. He finds nothing, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t anything there. “Let’s go,” he helps you into the front seat before climbing in on his own side and you speed back to the motel. He’s on edge now and you feel terrible because you had him relaxed and hopefully happy.

You carry in the drinks as he takes the boxes, Sam meeting at the door with a smile that drops when he sees what kind of mood Dean’s in. “You alright,” he winces once you’re both inside. 

“I think so,” you reply, setting down the cans of soda next to the pizza and flop down in the chair. But Dean’s going around the room, double checking the salt lines. Sam watches him with you and grabs a slice to eat despite the current mood of the room.

“Dean, it’s fine, okay? It could’ve been my mind playing tricks on me,” you try your best to get him to relax, but your word choice makes him frown harder.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he grunts. He seems satisfied that the room is secure and take his place next to you, loading up the paper plates the restaurant gave you and hands you one before he makes his own. Whatever happened isn’t brought up and he turns to Sam, “Find anything?”

Sam sets down his piece and holds up a finger as he chewed. “They’ve both visited the same women’s health clinic,” he explains. “Both saw the same doctor about a week apart two months ago. I’m still trying to get into their records.”

“Then we’ll check it out in the morning,” Dean shrugs, picking off a pepperoni. 

Sam nods slowly and his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Dean, both eyebrows raised, “Is that Dean’s shirt?”

“Maybe,” you do your best to play it cool, not looking up from your plate.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Sam chuckles. 

Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t hide his grin, “Shut up.”

\---

The night continues without incident, the three of you finish off the pizza and Sam works on translating the words you gave him earlier that day. He’s on the couch with you and Dean, computer resting on his lap with the pair of you watch a show of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives because apparently that’s a thing for Dean.

When you all finally get to sleep, Dean’s wrapped around you, pressing your back against his chest, one arm around your waist, the other tucked under the pillow you are forced to share because of his crowding. More importantly, though, you had no dreams, which means either Dean is the best cure or the night is safe from the crazy blood cult or whatever it is.

Sam is up before either of you the following morning and makes no attempt to wake you, slipping out of the room unnoticed. And of the two left, you’re the first up, slowly realizing that Dean’s snoring behind you and you get all warm and fuzzy because he’s still tucked around you.

When he feels your stir, the arm around your waist tightens and there’s a gruff, “Nuh uh,” with it.

“We can’t stay in bed all day,” you grin, turning in his hold to face him. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a smile on his face.

“I beg to differ,” he mumbles and forces you snuggle close, your face tucking just under his chin. You allow yourself to stay there, wrapped in a warm, safe Dean-burrito, at least until Sam stumbles in and starts banging around the room. “We’re trying to sleep here,” Dean snaps at him, covering your ear before he does. 

“We’ve got work to do,” Sam reminds him, throwing a pillow at his brother, but it hits you in the back instead.

“Rude,” you say into Dean’s chest, not caring to move now that Sam wants you to.

“Oh, so now that you two are a thing, I get teamed up on,” Sam laughs, searching through his bag for clothes.

“Damn right, pal,” Dean yawns and pulls back to kiss your on your forehead. “Up,” he tells you, kisses you on your nose and then rolls away, but not without a whine of protest from you.

You fall onto the bed face first, right where Dean left, and it’s still warm and smells like him. That’s good enough, so you take the pillow Sam threw, lay it over your head and go back to sleep. Their movements becomes careful and they start their morning routines, Sam showering first, Dean after. Sam goes for coffee and breakfast and Dean crawls back into bed with you, tugging off the pillow to coax you into kisses. 

Without having a chance to brush your teeth, you fight him, and just allow his soft, open mouth kisses along your neck and collarbone. He made you sleep in the flannel you wore yesterday, telling you how cute you were in it and that it’s always been a weakness of his. And now you’re starting to know why he likes it so much as he pops open the first few buttons to kiss down your chest. 

“Do you really have time for this,” you ask breathlessly, back arching every so slightly off the bed as he bites down between your breasts. 

He smiles against your skin, “Not really. Just want to give you a preview.”

You lift your head to look down at him and he’s absorbed in what he’s doing, one large, rough hand on your left breast, his teeth and tongue playing with the nub on your right. There’s a strangled gasp that escapes you and he eats it all up, doubling down on his effort and you’re digging your hands into his hair.

He releases you with a loud pop and smiles brightly up at you, tossing you a wink to boot. “Sammy’ll be back soon, get ready for breakfast.” And he leaves you there, shirt open, chest heaving slightly, skin flushed. You groan loudly in frustration, but he laughs and pats you on your thigh before he heads to the table to look over the research notes. 

It takes you a couple of seconds to get your brain to start working again and manage to rebutton the shirt. When the rest of your body catches up, you reluctantly roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up for the day.

Sam’s back when you reenter the room, breakfast sandwiches all around, smoothies for you and him, coffee for Dean. “Lemon blueberry,” he says, shaking the drink at you as you make your way over. 

“My hero,” you sigh wistfully and snatch it from him before taking your chair. “What,” you mumble around the straw when you catch Dean staring at you.

“That shirt,” he says simply and you look down, seeing nothing wrong with the plain white tee.

“Am I missing something,” you laugh, face twisting in confusion.

“I think he’s upset you’re not wearing his,” Sam offers, amused.

Dean scoffs and pulls a face, “I’m not upset. I mean, you just looked good in the other one, I thought…”

“If I keep wearing your clothes, you’re going to run out of them,” you shake your head but get up to look through his bag. There’s a solid dark green one at the top and you pull it over what you have on, and just like the other shirt, it smells like Dean and drowns you in size and comfort. “Better?”

That seems to satisfy him and he returns to his meal with a small grin. “You’re hopeless, dude,” Sam snorts around his sandwich, but he’s obviously happy that Dean’s happy. 

“I agree,” you chime in, dressing the egg on your sandwich with hot sauce.

“Hey,” Deans says incredgeously, “I thought you were on my team!” You look up like you have no idea what he’s talking about and shrug innocently. “You can’t play for both teams.”

A devilish smirk slips on your lips and you give him a sultry wink, “Baby, I play for all the teams.” That earned a double take from both of them and Dean was more than happy to lean in and ask for details while Sam taps out and covers his ears. “Maybe you’ll find out one day,” you laugh, smashing the top of the English muffin back onto your sandwich and take a bite.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Sam groans, looking down at his half-eaten meal and frowns. “I was really enjoying it.”

“Oh, suck it up and eat it, you big baby,” Dean rolled his eyes. But breakfast continues as it normally does and the boys get ready to head to the clinic leaving you alone once again. Before he leaves, however, Dean pulls you close and places a lingering kiss on your lips, “Be careful.”

“That’s my line,” you smile and kiss him once more before he’s out of the door and they’re gone well into the night. Thankfully, Dean has half a mind to leave cash behind and you are able to order lunch and now dinner.

You’re at the table with beef and broccoli, chopsticks hanging limply from your fingers when you’re not there anymore. You’re engulfed in an inky black darkness that feels like nothing and everything all at once. Unlike your dreams, you can move, but whatever it is around you is so dark that you can’t even see your hand in front of your face. 

You start to panic, the blood starts to pump loudly in your ears and you feel like your skin is on fire. “This isn’t real,” you tell yourself aloud and it echos despite how thick the darkness is. “Just calm down, breathe.” You take in a few shaky breaths, but the panic doesn’t subside completely. “You’re in Iowa, in a shitty hotel, eating crappy Chinese food. You’re fine.”

Whatever it is that’s going on doesn’t stop and you want to cry, but you’re a big girl, you suck it up.

“C' ah nog. Mgahnnn shuggnglui.”

Okay, now you’re getting pissed off because you keep hearing those words and it’s not even a real language you’re pretty sure. “If you’re going to be annoying me, at least speak English,” you yell out to the nothingness, but nothing speaks back.

And you’re back in the motel room, chopstick still in hand, blood dripping from your nose and a massive headache. Luckily the boys aren’t back yet, so you hurry to clean any evidence of your episode from your face and on the table where it dripped.

When you leave the bathroom, the boys walk in, files in hand. “I’m starving,” Dean groans, smelling the lukewarm Chinese and immediately dives in. “You have a good day,” he asks, half a cheese rangoon in his mouth.

“Uneventful,” you reply with a shrug. He seems to take that as an honest answer and continues on with his meal. “What’d you find out?”

Sam looks a little uncomfortable, “They both went in for a procedure.” You nod slowly and wait for him to continue. “Abortions.”

“You think that’s the motive,” you frown. Political agendas aside, the connection is a very specific one and there are crazy people out there, the supernatural may not be involved.

“I’m going to keep looking,” Sam decides. “Could be a coincidence. But there were protestors outside of the building, could’ve been there when both of the women made their visits, it’s hard to tell.”

You frown at the idea of some crazy nutjob taking a life because of a personal decision. “Maybe I can help? Beats sitting around doing nothing all day.”

Dean shakes head and grunts, “Nope. Vacation, remember? Spa days and relaxing. Lots and lots of yoga.”

“Dean, I’m fine, alright? Just sitting around is driving me crazy,” you say, trying not to sound ungrateful for all they’ve done and allowed for you to do. “I’m not asking to run around and play your Watson, but at least let me research here?” You bat your eyelashes and give him a pout, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Meditation and candles,” he continues as if you said nothing. “I’m booking you one of those at home massages.” He pauses and his face scrunches, “No, nevermind, you might get Sven with an eight pack and traps the size of watermelons. I’ll give you a massage.”

“Sven sounds awesome, though,” you sigh, resting your chin in your hand, trying your best to look disappointed.

“It hasn’t even been two days and you’re trying to make me jealous,” Dean sucks on his teeth..

Sam laughs and you join in. “Don’t worry, Sven’s not my type,” you wink and Sam gags again. 

\---

Dean relents about you helping, most likely after receiving a lecture from Sam. The youngest Winchester shows you the normal sites and programs he uses, helps you into the clinic’s employee database and you start looking into their backgrounds while they head to the protestors to give them the shakedown.

It’s boring, just like the witch goo search, but it gives something to do and hopefully it’ll prevent another murder. But every employee turns up clean, even after you searched through their social media and phone records, nothing showing crazy cult member vibes from any of them. 

But you get a call from Dean, they found what they wanted pretty easily, the group folded under pressure, most likely from Dean’s scary face and his rough, demanding voice, maybe it was the waving of guns in their faces and eventual criminal charges. Either way, the boys knew what they were dealing with and nipped it in the bud, the crisis of resurrecting a supposed fertility god was averted according to them. You don’t know why, but something about it makes you think it was a bit too easy. You try to fight your suspicion and trust the brothers’ judgement.

Nevertheless, it is late in the evening, so you don’t think you would be heading back to the bunker, but you started to pack up so you could get a headstart tomorrow. Sam’s the first one to enter, surprised to find his things all neat and ready to go. “Did he call you,” he asks, a knowing smile on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling back.

“Well, have fun,” he laughs and takes his bag, heading towards the door.

“What,” you snatch up your duffle and follow him, but he stops you.

Sam tilts his head and raises a brow, “You’re staying. I got my own room.” It takes you a couple of seconds to realize just what’s going on and then you blush, hard. “Just make sure you don’t wake up our neighbors again with your… fun.”

“Oh god, Sam, don’t,” you groan and shove him out of the door. “Go find some earplugs, just in case.” He exaggerates his gagging, holding his stomach as he heads to his new room. “Your brother is sweet and smart and amazing,” you tell Dean when he walks up, “but he’s also an idiot.”

Dean tilts his head in agreement, then pushes you back into the room, throwing your bag as far away from you as possible. “Lose everything but my shirt,” he says, licking his lips, “and then we’ll see about that massage.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean keeps his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, NSFW. Maybe some bad words. Unprotected sex. (Wrap it before you tap it). Unbeta’d.
> 
> Hopefully this isn’t horrible. The smut, I mean. The plot... it’ll thicken next chapter, I promise.

Dean’s serious about the shirt and shoos you into the bathroom, telling you to take a bath and relax. You’re not sure what he has planned, but you do as you’re told and take a nice, warm bath. The door to the room opens and closes, signaling he’s left. Not thinking too much of it, you take the time to enjoy the warmth. Your eyes slip closed and you’re not sure how long you’re in there, but he’s returned long enough for your toes and fingers to get a little wrinkled. “Y/N,” he calls through the door, knocking, “got somethin’ for you.”

You take your time getting out, making sure you’re clean and groomed, slipping on Dean’s shirt and, as instructed, nothing else. You flatten it against your front, the warm cotton soft against your freshly washed skin, hitting just above mid-thigh, and like Sam’s sweater, the sleeves go passed your hands and hang. You do your best to roll up the cuffs and head out to see the table set up on the far side of the room with dinner and wine.

“What’s this,” you smile, meeting the satisfied smirk of Dean.

“Wining and dining,” he winks and motions you over. “Case is closed, I make good on my promises.” You step up to him and an arm slips around your waist to pull you close, his free hand reaches up to tuck stray, wet hairs out of your face. 

“I didn’t expect you to be the romantic type,” you tease as your hands spread across his chest, your noses now touching.

He shrugs nonchalantly and presses his lips to yours, once, twice, “It’s been known to happen.” His hand around your waist slips lower and cups the swell of your ass and gives it a squeeze. You gasp and clutch his shirt, biting down on your bottom lip and he slowly gathers the shirt up to feel the soft skin underneath. “Dinner’s going to get cold.”

Reluctantly, he lets you go and pulls one chair around to the other, motioning for you to take a seat. You sit, legs crossed and he settles next to you. There’s wine that he pours into paper cups and several open containers of food, a small tour of Italy, it would seem, several types of pastas and various fried appetizers. “When did you manage to get all of this,” you pick up a friend ravioli and pop it into your mouth. 

“Ordered on the way here, Sam went to pick it up,” Dean shrugs, slipping a hand on your knee. “You’re okay with it?”

More than okay with it. You nod and pick up another ravioli, holding it up to his lips. His smile grows and readily takes it from you. The rest of the dinner continues much of the same way, sharing food and a lot of wine. He gets you to tell him about your life back home, school and your shitty job. You don’t get much out of him other than stories about Sam or hunts, but it’s better than nothing.

When half the food and the entire bottle of wine is gone, his hand’s a little higher on your thigh and you’ve a hand tangled into his hair. The chairs are keeping you two from being completely wrapped up around one another. You thought about moving to the couch, but he’s slowly pushing up your shirt and his tongue is in your mouth so you completely forget how to think.

It starts out languid, exploring tongues and light nips, Dean taking the time to savor you. He’s got your skin heated from his touch and lightheaded from his tongue, and thanks to the wine lowering your inhibitions, your body is humming with need. The armrest digs into your side but you push closer despite the discomfort.

His mouth leaves yours and bites along your jaw to your ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. “Bed,” he growls and removes himself from you completely and you whine at the loss. “C’mon,” he smiles and stands, holding out his hand. He pulls you up when you take it and he leads you to the edge of bed where once again he hugs you close. The way that he looks down at you makes your heart swell, right now, you’re the only thing that matters to him.

“You promised me a massage,” you lick your lips, your hands running up his biceps. Dean chuckles at that and bunches the bottom of the shirt up and beings to knead at both globes on your ass, a half smirk on his face as his eyes darken. You meet in the middle, his mouth devouring yours like he’s trying to suck out your soul. 

The hands on your behind slip down to the back of your thighs and he hoists you up with ease, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist in return. It takes some careful maneuvering what with all the heated kisses, but he gets you up and on the bed, resting on your back with him hovering above you. 

You can feel the bulge straining against his jeans against your bare sex and you admire just how much he’s holding back to grind against you. He’s got you pinned under him, resting on his forearms and panting slightly. “The things I wanna do to you,” he groans, lifting up on his hands to get a really good look at you, kiss drunk and wrapped up in his shirt. “Fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

Your blush darkens at the praise, but allow yourself to enjoy it. You’ve got the most beautiful man you’ve ever set eyes on rock hard and between your thighs, you’ve got to believe it. “You’re not so bad yourself, Winchester,” you counter weakly and roll your hips. The rough cloth of his jeans scratches along your core, giving you both a bit of relief. His lips part and he lets out a strangled moan, face twisting in concentration, like he’s holding himself back. “You okay?”

“Having an internal debate right now,” he replies, absently licking his lips. Your eyes watch the tongue dart out and you lean up to chase with your own. He groans into your mouth and you roll your hips once again, silently asking him to wrap it up so you can get to the good stuff. “Y/N,” he sighs when you part for air, “darlin’, you gotta let me think, alright?”

He’s had hours to think about this and he decided to give you the date he promised, so you have no idea what he’s got on his mind now. “Wanna share with the class? Try to get a group consensus?” 

His eyes rake over you once more and he shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he growls and kisses you until your eyes roll back in your head and you’re clawing at his back. He pulls away from you and sits back on his knees, hands hurriedly working to get the borrowed shirt open. The buttons pop free of their hold and he’s on you again, kissing down your chest, lips attaching onto a nipple, one hand playing your other breast, and the other is sliding down your stomach, slipping between your hips. 

Two thick fingers slide between your folds and he whines around your tit. He releases the nipple with a scrape of his teeth and absently licks his lips once again, “You’re soaked.” You close your eyes at that, not sure if you should be embarrassed or not, but he leans down to kiss you, middle finger prodding at your entrance. He gets you to spread a little wider, open up to him completely, and pushes in all the way to his last knuckle. “Shit, baby,” he pants against your kiss swollen lips, “you’re gonna feel like heaven.”

Your hands fall to his shoulders and he slowly starts to pump the digit in and out of you drawing a whimper from you. You tighten around him as he slips another in and your fingers dig into his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers, peppering you with kiss, “there we go. That’s my girl.” You release your grip from him and force yourself to calm. 

He’s working you open as he continues down your chest to your stomach, nuzzling at the warm, exposed skin, his stubble tickling you. You squirm and whine for him to stop, but he just smiles and nips around your belly button. A giggle escapes and he laughs along with you, but then he curls his fingers and your laughter is cut short and replaced with a moan.

His lips trail down to meet his fingers, kisses are placed along your thighs as his broad shoulders spread you further apart. “Now, be a good girl for me,” he mumbles against your sex, pulling out his fingers and using them to part your folds, “and show me how much you want me.” He licks a long, slow stroke along your core and stops to tease your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your thighs twitch and you grab onto the sheets as he starts to swirl his tongue and suck on your bud. Even though your eyes are squeezed shut, they’re rolling into the back of your head. The man definitely knows what he’s doing and you give him the dirtiest moan you can muster to show him how much you appreciate it. In return, he latches his mouth onto you and assaults you with the fury of his tongue, fucking you to heaven and back.

It’s hard to decide whether you want to push him away or keep him down there forever. He’s got you close to the edge and he knows it by the way your body quivers and tiny whimpers and moans that escape you. Then he does this thing with his tongue and you can’t even comprehend it, but it’s got your body arching off the bed and you crying out his name.

And he keeps going until you have nothing else to give, too weak to push him away. There are so many things you want to say, but they all come out at once in a whine. “You okay there,” he chuckles, wiping off what’s left you with the back of his hand. 

You feebly lift up your hand and wave it once, “Give me a minute.” He crawls up your body and initiates another slow, drawn out kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s like he’s happy to share. Your tongues lazily dance, but his hands are all over you, squeezing, blunt nails raking down your thighs, a stark contrast to your languid kiss. 

“You’ve got too much on,” you say when you finally part and you’re in your right mind. He pulls back and rests on his hunches. It takes some time for him to peel off layer after layer, but you lay there and enjoy it. “If only I had some ones.”

Dean fluffs at that, squaring his shoulder a little more and tosses you a wink. Down to his jeans, he rubs his hand over the bulge and bites at his lips. “Mind helping me out, darlin’,” he groans. Happily, you oblige, sitting up to replace his hands with yours, running your fingertips lightly over the outline. He hisses at the touch and tries to buck into your hand, but you pull away, clicking your tongue. “Y/N,” he warns.

“Let me enjoy this,” you pout, but press the palm of your hand against the tip and grip it as much as you can over the cotton. “Belt,” you tell him and he’s got it off and tossed to the side in seconds. You pop open the button of his jeans and he’s staring down at your hands as they work. His gaze flickers to yours and he licks his lips as his zipper goes down. 

It takes some maneuvering, but you pull down the top of his jeans to his thighs, his cock bobs when it's free. He’s a longer than average and thick is all get out, your mouth is watering at the sight, especially at the pooling of pre-cum at the tip. Your fingers wrap around the head and you roll your thumb over his slit which earns you a hiss. 

There’s a smirk on your face that splits it in two and your hand slides down to his base, giving it a squeeze. He bucks into your touch once more, but you don’t remove your hand, you loosen your grip a little and he starts to thrust into it, slow and and steady. There’s just enough pressure to keep him happy, but it’s not enough to satisfy. “Y/N,” he grunts, reaching down to grip your wrist.

“I know,” you whisper and settle back down on the bed. He sighs at the loss of your hand, but works himself out of his jeans and boxers, tossing them aside. It’s you that reaches out this time to grab his wrist and lead his hand down to your center, “This is how much I want you.” His fingers work through your folds once more, you’re aching and dripping, and he’s close to dropping back down to get another taste.

But Dean takes his other hand and slaps at your thighs, signaling to part them even more, and you comply. “Goddamn, look at you,” he growls, lining himself up just inches away from your entrance, “sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen in awhile.” You want to blush and look away, but you can’t, he’s staring at you like you’re his entire world right now. “Keep those beautiful eyes open, baby,” he smirks and slowly sinks into with a sinful moan. 

Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes flutter just a little, but you keep them open like he wants until he’s fully seated inside of you and falls down onto his forearms, panting. “Jesus, Y/N,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing closed to adjust to the feeling of you surrounding him. 

It doesn’t take long for his eye to fly open again and he’s leaning down to kiss you, hard and hungry. You give him everything you’ve got, hands tangled up in his hair once more, legs looping around his. He pulls out until all that’s left is the head and thrusts back in with one hard stroke. You moan into his mouth and he eats it up, setting a steady pace of deep, soul crushing thrusts, his forehead pressed into your own, open mouth kisses shared between you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes into your mouth, punctuating every word with a snap of his hips. You whimper in return, your hands leaving his hair and move to cup his face, nails scratching along his beard and down his shoulders. With each snap of his hips you leave a new set of scratches along his scarred skin. 

You shift your hips and wrap your legs tighter around him, trying to make him go even deeper. “I got you, baby,” he chuckles and pulls out, sighing at the loss, and shifts back on his hunches to hook under your knees. He pushes them as far as they can go and lines himself up once against. He shoves back in with an animalist grunt, your eyes rolling in the back of your head once more with a bone rattling moan. 

“You sing so pretty, darlin’.” He’s got your legs pinned against your chest and he’s resting his weight on top of you, the sound of skin on skin fills the room, accented by a melody of your whimpers and his grunts. “Now,” he leans down to rasp in your ear, “tell everyone who’s got you feelin’ good.” And he’s slamming into you making the bed rattle on its legs.

Your whimpers turn to moans turn to half screams. His name escapes you once or twice and he’s smiling like the sun is shining just for him. “Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Dean pants. He sits back just enough for you to get your hand between the both of you so your fingers can work their magic. “That feel good,” he asks with a smile when you clench around him and arch your back a little. 

He’s fucking you like he’s leaving for war, your body rocking with every thrust. You try to keep a steady rhythm against your clit, but it’s hard to think when his hips are knocking the air out of you. The coil in your belly is tightening with every move and from the way he’s moving, here’s getting there, too. 

Your legs fall from his hold and his mouth is back on yours, all teeth and tongue. “Cum for me,” he whispers and you almost miss over the pounding for the headboard against the wall. “C’mon, baby girl, let it all go.” And you do, the floodgates open and you’re practically crying as you hit your peak with some resemblance of his name on your tongue.

He’s right behind you, a few thrusts deep and he’s spilling into with a guttural moan. 

The two of you stay wrapped in each other until your breathing evens out and your heartbeat turns to normal. You make the first move and tap him on the cheek, “Can’t breathe.” He rolls off of you with a sorry and onto his back, instantly gathering you back in his arms. Your curl against his side, head on his chest and close your eyes. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he nods, hand idly playing with your hair, “yeah, it was.” A kiss is pressed on your forehead, “How about a nap and then we go for round two?” Your eyes shoot open and you pop your head up, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you meet him halfway for a sweet, lingering kiss.

\---

The drive back to the bunker is uneventful and when you get there, Sam heads straight to your witch juice to get it going. You dump your stuff off at your room and you slip into the library to resume your research. When the brew is bubbling, Sam joins you and the two of you pour of every book he thinks could be helpful. 

You pour of texts for hours, laying on the table, holding up the book you’re currently reading above you. “That looks uncomfortable,” Dean snorts, carrying in a load of sandwiches and beer for the two of you. 

“Gotta spice things up,” you shrug and roll onto your side. “Thanks for lunch.” He shrugs back at you and takes a seat before picking up a book himself. You raise a brow and sit on the edge of the table, grabbing a sandwich along the way. “I thought you hate research?”

Dean looks up from his book and frowns, “Not my favorite thing to do in the whole world, but I keep my promises. You want fixed, I’m gonna help you get fixed.” The look on his face is like he’s speaking the obvious and you suppose it is. You’re a case and he’s working it. “Sammy’s not the only who cracks open books, give me some credit.”

You exchange smiles and you finish off the sandwich in record time. “You’d make a great housewife someday,” you jump off the table and pat his shoulder. 

“Oh yeah, I’m a regular Carol Brady,” he grins and watches you disappear between a row of bookcases, eyes lingering on your best asset. You can hear a throat clear on the other side of the room and then the boys whispering to each other.

When you pop back out, the whispering stops and they try to look innocent, but it fails. “Something wrong,” you fall into the chair next to Dean.

“No,” Sam admits a little too quickly and you narrow your eyes. “Okay, so, we’ve been talking,” he motions between his brother and himself. “And we need to think about worst case scenario.”

“Sam,” Dean warns, but his brother presses on.

“This potion might not last forever, a cure might never be found,” Sam continues, “so we need to think about a what-if.”

Your face twists up as you try to piece together what he’s saying, “You gonna Order 66 me?”

“What? No,” Dean replies. “Sam’s got experience with this kind of thing. We were thinking more like a Yoda-Luke type of thing.”

“I can’t carry him on my back through Dagobah,” you roll your eyes, cracking open your book.

Dean sighs and plucks the book from your hands. “Y/N,” he growls and that makes you look at him, “he’s learned to control his… whatever it is. He can help you.”

The two of you stare at one another for what seems like forever. “We’ll still keep looking, though, right,” you finally break the silence and they agree. “But there are conditions,” you add and Dean starts to frown. “If none of this works, none of it, you stop me.”

“Stop you,” Dean parrots. “What are you talking about?”

“Just promise me,” you’re serious and he gets it, but he doesn’t answer you. “Dean.” There’s no verbal answer, but a slight tilt of his head is all you need. “Can I keep reading or are we going to start with the levitating rocks?”

“You’re kind of turning me on with all these Star Wars references,” Dean grins causing Sam to gag across from him. You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop the smile on your face. “We’re having a movie night.” He hands you back your book and leaves the pair of you back to your search. 

\---

Movie night is you squished between Dean and Sam on a big, comfy couch, sharing popcorn and starting the original trilogy. Sam’s asleep halfway through, but Dean’s got his arm around you and you’re cuddled up to his side. This all seems so normal, like it’s something that should be, but also like something it shouldn’t. 

You were thrusted upon these men against your will and theirs and they accepted you with open arms without a second thought. You don’t deserve this, at least you don’t think you do, but Sam pulls late nights for you and Dean, well, he’s given you something you haven’t had in a long time. Despite the horrible dreams, this life right now isn’t so bad. It’s good. Better than good. 

Which means it’s going to go bad, probably worse than bad.

And you find out just how bad when the Millennium Falcon gets sucked up by the tractor beam.

It’s dark, thicker than black and it feels like you’ve got a hundred pounds on your chest. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you hear, the voice faint and struggling. “I’m so very sorry.” You recognize it immediately and try to search for it, walking endlessly in the void. “It was a gift, not a burden.”

“Can you please just tell me what’s going on,” you yell, tears stinging at your eyes.

“I don’t have much time, I’m holding them back for now,” she replies. “These boys you’re with, they’ve been through this before in more ways than they realize. You’re the key to this. Keep yourself safe.”

“Key to what?” But you receive no more answers from you, she’s gone once again and you have a feeling she’s not coming back.

“C' ah nog. Mgahnnn shuggnglui,” is what you get instead. A steady, chanting echo of it that rings in your ears until you wake up right where you were, tucked under Dean’s arm, both brothers now snoring away, but you’re nose sprung a leak, staining yours and Dean’s shirts red.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fine. Everything's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light frisking. Four letter words. Un-beta’d.
> 
> Uhhh yeah. I dunno.

Dean feels you start to move away and he immediately grabs you, pulling you back, not bothering to open his eyes. “Stay,” he mumbles.

“Bathroom,” you whine, trying to wiggle free. He lets you go with a sigh and opens his eyes to see you rush out of the room. You don’t know why you’re trying to hide what happened, there’s blood on his shirt, too, but there’s a lot more on your face and borrowed flannel than his. Nevertheless, you wash yourself up and change the shirt, hiding it at the bottom of your closet. 

Dean’s at the end of the hall when you exit your room. His eyes drop down to his shirt and then to you, obviously changed. “Everything okay,” he asks, face stone straight.

“Fine,” you smile weakly.

“Sam’s hit the sack, I’m gonna turn in,” he tells you. “Good night.”

Your jaw clenches, but you nod, “Yeah, good night.”

He turns and heads down the hall to his room and the door slams shut, you jump when it does. 

You force yourself to sleep, an uneventful night turns into a tense morning. Sam’s the first up and you join him in the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup and sit across from him. He’s got his nose stuck in the paper, but manages a ‘morning’’ which you return. Dean’s the last to join you, says nothing to either of you, pours himself some coffee and he’s gone again.

That gets Sam’s attention, his eyebrows perk up and he looks to you and then the hallway that Dean disappeared down. “Trouble in paradise already,” he puts down his coffee and paper, ready to listen.

“No,” you shake your head, “other than me lying to his face, it’s fine.”

Sam inhales deeply and exhales with a nod. “There’s a lot of things Dean hates, but keeping stuff from him is his number one. Hypocritical of him, I know, but what can you do?”

“I just don’t want to worry him,” your brow pinches so hard that it’s practically causing waves in your coffee. 

“So you keep something from which will make him worry even more,” Sam says slowly so that you understand how stupid you are. You stare up at him, mouth open, and make a noise in your throat. “I’ve been in your shoes, more than once. Actually, it’s a kind of a twice weekly thing for us.” You snort. “Look, he doesn’t talk about his emotions because he just doesn’t and he doesn’t like other people talking about their emotions because he doesn’t, but he expects you to tell him when something’s wrong, especially if it’s our kind of wrong, because that’s just who he is. It’s more than a… relationship thing,” he says cautiously, “it’s a Dean thing.”

You tap your coffee cup with your nails and chew on your lip. “I suck,” you sigh and get up from the table. “Thanks, Sam.” He nods and you head through the bunker to find Dean. 

He’s in his man cave, sitting on the middle of the couch, feet up and watching the news. “Stop,” he tells you without even looking up, “this is a no lying zone, don’t wanna get zapped, do you?”

“I deserve that,” you sigh, but keep your position by the door. “And probably a little more.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “probably.” Your stomach is tied in knots, but you step in and move towards where he’s sitting. “You can’t finish a puzzle without all the pieces,” he starts again when you hit the edge of the couch. “I need all the pieces, Y/N. I need to know what I’m fighting so I know how to fight it and when this is all done, you can go on your merry way.”

That’s a punch to your gut and you swallow hard, “It’s happened a couple of times now. I get… swallowed in darkness, but it’s not just dark, it’s more than that.” You poke at the cushion on the armrest. “It’s like everything and it’s nothing. A big, empty void full of black, heavy nothing and I keep hearing this voice,” your throat tightens up and you can feel tears prick at your eyes because you know how this is can go and it could end up really bad. “It keeps saying that mumbo jumbo over and over and over and I don’t know what it means or what it wants.” You can feel his eyes burn into you. “Well, no,” you shake your head and let out a shaky breath, “I know what it wants.”

“You,” Dean finishes quietly.

“Still want me to go on my merry way,” you sniffle. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and gets up. “Listen, I’m not good at this crap, okay? But I’m trying my best here.”

“Yeah, well, my track record isn’t something to write home about, either,” you move to him and when his arms wrap around you, you hide away in his chest. “If I told you, I thought you’d lock me up or, I dunno, dump me on the side of the road.”

You feel him kiss the top of your head, his large, warm hands run up and down your back, “We promised to help you, Y/N. We don’t turn our backs on people that need help. This is just a tough nut to crack, but I’ll find a hammer big enough to swing.”

“Makes me want pecan pie,” you pull back to look at him and Dean smiles down at you.

“You’re my kinda gal, Y/N,” he practically swoons.

\---

“I’m an idiot,” Sam says during lunch two weeks later.

“No argument here,” Dean says around his burger and you punch his arm. “Don’t white knight my brother,” he scoffs at you. You stare at him, face straight, and he relents with a roll of his eyes, turning back to the youngest Winchester, “Why do you think you’re an idiot?”

“Because I know that I knew that I knew what language that was and I…” he trails off and takes his salad with him to the library.

“What,” you and Dean say in unison. 

“I’ll get back to you,” Sam shouts down the hall.

“He’s so cute when he’s in nerd mode,” you coo, popping a couple fries into your mouth. 

“Cute,” Dean grimaces, stealing your fries even though he still has a plateful of his own. “Sam is not cute. He’s puppy trapped in the body of a gorilla.”

You pinch him for his theft and take his beer in retaliation, “Puppies are cute.”

“Not as cute as you,” Dean grins, leaning in to place a ghost of a kiss on your lips.

“Don’t change the subject,” you click your tongue, moving just out of his reach to finish off his beer. 

He frowns at the empty bottle you place in front of him, “I’d rather not talk about my brother while I’m trying to get laid, thank you very much.” With a heavy sigh, he gets up and tosses the bottle in the trash before he retrieves a replacement. 

“Oh, you think calling me cute is going to get you into my pants,” you snort, sitting back and crossing your arms.

“Well, yeah,” Dean shrugs as if it was obvious, leaning against the kitchen island. You narrow your eyes at him and just smirks like the cocky son of a bitch he is. 

“I’m going to help Sam,” you decide, grabbing your plate and soda. 

His face falls and he pushes off the counter, “Wait, what?” You spin in your chair and stand, heading to door, but he stops you halfway, body blocking you. “We were doing the thing,” he frowns.

“We were,” you nod and rise on your toes to kiss him sweetly. He sighs into it, free hand slipping to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But Sammy might need me.”

“I need you,” he murmurs against your lips, snaking his hand underneath your shirt to tickle at the small of your back. 

“You do?” You kiss him again, this one lingering a little longer. 

He nods with your lips against his, blunt nails scratching along your ass before he gives it a nice squeeze. You squeak into his mouth and pull away, earning a chuckle. “Where are you going,” he’s smirking again, lips attacking yours once more. There’s food and drinks between you and if you’re not careful, they’re going to end up on the floor.

“Dean,” you whine, holding onto you plate and cup for dear life, “c’mon.”

He hesitates, but eventually releases his hold on you, letting you slip away to set down your food back on the table. His beer joins the rest and he’s crowding you from behind, hard body pressing against your back and rough hands latching onto your hips. Instinctively, you press back into him, your head lulling onto his shoulder when he starts to lick and bite at your neck. 

A small whimper escapes your parted lips as he sucks at your pulse. His hands waste no time climbing up underneath your shirt and grab at your breasts. You can feel how hard he is when he grinds into your ass and he knows he’s got you just as wet. 

“So, I remember when we… really, in the kitchen,” Sam groans, “we eat here!”

You jump and nearly fall over the table to part from Dean. The older Winchester doesn’t seem all that fazed and shrugs, “Yeah, I was planning to eat-“ but your quickly clamp your hand over his mouth before Sam throws up his lunch.

“Sorry, Sam,” you blush and release your hold on Dean. “Did you find something?” Sam still looks a little green, but he nods and holds up a book. “Call of Cthulhu? Lovecraft?”

Dean’s brow knits together as he tries to recall where he’s heard it before. “Wait, that’s the dude that was trying to open a portal or whatever, right?”

“He did, remember,” Sam corrects him. “Brought over Elle. She’s how Cas and Crowley opened Purgatory.”

This is the first time you’ve heard any of those name and the fact that Purgatory was real and was opened, but you’ve heard and been witness to weirder, you’re not all that surprised. “So, what does that have to do with me?”

“That’s the million dollar question,” Sam answers with the shrug, “but I think what language you’ve been hearing is straight out of Lovecraft’s noggin.”

“Do you know what it means,” you ask, hopeful for the first time in a long time. 

Sam shakes his head, “But I’m going to work on a translation.”

Dean’s rubbing at his head and has a hand on his hip, probably trying to follow the logic. “So you’re saying some giant alien god could be real?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Sam replies. “I’m going to work with what I’ve got and we can go from there.” He gives you a tight smile and heads back to the library.

You catch Dean’s worried gaze and you offer him a smile, “I’m literally insane. I’m going to check myself in to the nut house right now.”

“What,” he blinks, “you’re not crazy.”

“Dean, I think a fictional octopus god from outer space is talking to me,” you laugh, a screw loose now. “I’m full blown Cuckoo’s Nest.” Your hands twist into your hair, giving a tug.

He’s on you instantly, forcing you to relax to release your hair and he’s peppering kisses on your lips until you’re putty in his hands. “Hey, breathe, okay,” he says gently, “We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, you both know it, but if you say it enough, it has to be true, right? “Yeah, sure,” you nod, “everything is fine.” You don’t seem convinced, but it’s good enough for Dean. He takes you from the kitchen to his room, gets you to rest under the covers. “Are you gonna stay,” you peek out over the top, completely wrapped around Dean’s scent.

“Figured I’d give Sam a hand,” he shrugs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Get some rest, okay? Any freaky dreams happen, just shout.” He kisses your nose, then your lips a few more times and he’s gone, leaving you hugged by his memory foam. 

You wake up three hours later, sheets kicked away from you, but your face is deep in Dean’s pillow. It takes a few minutes for you to roll out of bed and gain your bearings. You shuffle through the bunker, searching every room to find it empty. There’s a note of the fridge in Dean’s writing: Dinner. Be back soon. D

It wouldn’t worry you so much to read the note if it had just been Dean who stepped out, but Sam is gone, too. The brothers never left you alone in the bunker. You worry your lip with your teeth, but do your best to keep calm. They have told you that nothing can get you here, it’s warded up the ass and if something did happen to get through, there were safe places for you to hide until someone came to get you.

So you do your best to push your worry aside and head to the Dean-cave and flop on the couch. With Netflix on, you lay out on the couch to get lost in Magic Mike. The thought of Dean walking in on a gyrating Channing Tatum was a reaction you never knew you wanted to see until now, so you hit play and relax.

But the movie finishes and the boys aren’t back. You’re not sure when they went out, but it’s been at least two hours since you woke up and you know it doesn’t take them that long to get anything. The phone that they gave you, now upgraded to something that can access internet, sits in your pocket and you wonder if it would be considered paranoia to give one of them a call. 

Seeing reason in the idea, you pull out the phone and find Dean in your contact list, but notice that you have no reception, it’s not even connected to the WiFi. You do what little tech support you can for yourself, but the phone is basically a brick. “It’s fine,” you say aloud, getting up from the couch to head to Dean’s room. “Everything’s fine.”

You speed walk your way to the bed and jump in, needing some comfort because you’re starting to freak out a little. And just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the lights flicker above, there’s a loud bang and the power is out. Two seconds later, the emergency lights pop on, flooding the halls in a blood red.

“It’s fine,” you whisper to yourself now, reaching under Dean’s pillow to find the gun that he sleeps with. You go through the steps he taught you, check the mag, turn off the safety, chamber a bullet. “Squeeze, don’t pull,” you remind yourself and look through his bedside drawer for a flashlight. 

Carefully, you slip out of his bed and begin to tiptoe out of the room, checking up and down the hall, gun out and trigger finger ready. Your heart’s pounding in your throat and blood is pumping in your ears, if anything’s stomping around, you probably wouldn’t be able to hear it, but you press on anyway. Your first thought is to get to one of the saferooms, which was Dean’s, but if anything was in the bunker looking for the Winchesters, that’s the last place you wanted to be.

You needed to get out of there, so you head for the exit, taking your time. You tiptoe through the twisting hallways and find the stairs that lead outside. Nearly tripping over your own feet as you race up the stairs, you pull on the door only to find it locked. After several attempts to try and pry it open, you give up. 

The red lights wash over you and the gun shakes in your hand. You have no idea what to do and can’t even call for help. There’s a small whine that escapes you and you fall onto the top step, staring down at your bare feet. “Okay. There’s gotta be something…” You rush down the stairs and head towards the garage. 

Cautiously, you open the door and peek around. When you see the Impala parked in its usual spot, your heart stops. “No. Nononono,” you whisper, running towards the car to feel the hood, it’s cold. Now you’re in full panic mode and rush towards the doubles door, they're not budging. You’re completely trapped in the bunker, which also means that no one can get in, either.

With silent tears, you head back to Dean’s room because that’s the only thing you can think of doing. You’re two seconds from breaking down and losing your mind when the emergency lights die and you’re swimming in complete darkness. Your chest feels heavy and there’s bile in your mouth, you don’t know what’s going on and you feel like you’re going to die here and alone.

“C' ephaipurge,” comes the same voice you’ve heard before, but now with something new to say. “Mgahnnn shuggnglui. C' ah nog. C' ahnythor uaaah ephaii.”

The bunker’s power kickstarts again and you’re standing in the middle of Dean’s room, staring at the doorway. The large, black humanoid figure is standing in the threshold, face indiscernible except for two glowing eyes staring straight at you. “Tell me what you want,” you shout at it, point the gun with shaking limbs. “What do you want from me?”

“Ymg' ah ch'nglui. Mgahnnn shuggnglui. C' ephaipurge,” it repeats to you. “C’ ah nog.”

“Alright, Squidward, fuck off,” you scream and unload the clip into thing, but it doesn’t even flinch. It just stares at you unblinking until you feel your eyes start to roll and you fall.

\---

“Hey, there you are,” you can hear Dean say, but sounds like a million tin cans rattling in your head. “Y/N?”

Slowly, your eyes flutter open and you see him smiling down at you, the hospital monitor beeping behind him. “What,” you start, trying to sit up, but your head feels like it’s going to explode if you keep moving.

“Woah woah woah, easy there, tiger,” he sighs, helping you sit back against your pillows. “You’re not going anywhere. Doc says you’ll have to take it easy for a couple of days, alright?” You try your best to remember what happened, but that just makes everything worse. “I went to get food, Sam was in the library, said he heard you screaming. When he got to you, you were…” he looks around the room and grimaces, “floating in the air and having a seizure or something.”

“Any pea soup involved,” you ask, watching him pull his seat closer to the bed and take your hand.

“We did the usual before we brought you here, you weren’t possessed.” You weakly squeeze his hand and look at the monitor, your vitals look fine. “They’re scheduling a CT Scan.” 

You turn back to him, his face is etched with worry, “You alright?”

Dean scoffs and leans his elbows on the bed, hand still in yours, “You’re in the hospital with tubes sticking out of you and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“It’s a serious question,” you frown.

“Yeah,” he nods, scratching at his stubble with his free hand, “I’m okay. Just worried out of my mind that you could’ve died, but yeah, I’m good.”

You try to shake your head, but it hurts too much to move. “It’ll take more than a freaky dream to kill me,” you give him your best smile.

There’s a knock on the door and a older gentleman walks in, clipboard in hand, “Ah, Mrs. Stevens, you’re awake,” he smiles at you, standing at the end of your bed. “I’m sure your husband caught you up? How’re feeling right now?”

You do your best to not question Dean’s decision to fake a marriage, so you shrug slightly. “My head feels like it’s about to go Mount Saint Helens and my body feels like melted jello. Oh, my stomach wants to be on the outside of my body.”

The doctor, Dr. Bishop, purses his lips and scribbles on the clipboard. “Well, we’re going to do our best to help with the pain and I’ll prescribe something for the nausea. Any allergies to any medications?”

“Penicillin,” you reply and he notes it. “Any idea what’s going on?”

Dr. Bishop looks to Dean before he settles back on you, “Could be some blockage, but we’ll know for sure when we see the scans. Transport will be up soon to take you where you need to go. Mr. Stevens, you’ll need to stay here.” He gives you both a farewell nod and heads to find the nurse for updates on your meds.

“Blockage,” you repeat, your grip on Dean’s hand growing tighter.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”


	8. Chapter Eigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hates hospitals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/Comfort. Unbeta'd.
> 
> This chapter goes off the beaten path for a little, we'll be back on track in the next. Forgive me.
> 
> But thank you to everyone that has been reading this, there are no words that can express how much I appreciate it. Thank you, thank you.

Dean isn’t happy about leaving you alone, but nurse wouldn’t let him follow. You give him a gentle smile and tell him to get some coffee and to find Sam. He kisses your forehead and agrees, then plants a soft, gentle one on your lips before they cart you out of the room.

The transport worker is a young man, probably in his late teens, and he’s a chipper one. He asks you how you’re feeling and you lie, of course, because you don’t want to ruin his day. He asks about your ‘husband’, if Dean normally goes around threatening everyone that comes close to you. You tell him, no, not usually, he’s just on edge. The boy snorts and asks if he’s from the military or maybe a younger Liam Neeson and you laugh, even though it hurts.

They transfer you from your bed to the machine. The technician tells you not to move, so, of course, you do everything you can not to, but it happens. She’s a sweet girl and takes her time with you, telling you to think of somewhere happy so you’re not so focused on what’s going on. It helps, you think of a nice beach somewhere, Dean next to you, both of you drinking out of fake coconuts, Sam’s off in the water, just standing and having a beer. It’s a nice thought and one that will never come to pass, but it gets you through the test.

You ask about what the results are, but she tells you she just takes the pictures, it’s not for her to judge and they bring you back to the room. The brothers are both there, looking worried and tired. “Hey,” you greet them when you’re parked in your spot and start hooking you back up to the monitor, “miss me?”

“What’d they say,” Dean asks immediately.

“Don’t know yet,” you shrug, holding up your arms so the nurse can put the blood pressure cuff back on you. “Doc’s gotta read ‘em, I guess.” She passes you a cup of water and a couple of pills and Dean’s grilling her about what you’re getting. “Baby,” you roll your eyes and it shoots pain all the way down to your toes, “she’s just doing her job.” 

He doesn’t apologize to the nurse, but you give her a small smile and she returns it, “My husband’s the same way.” She gives you a wink and leaves the three of you alone.

“I hate hospitals,” Dean grumbles, pulling his chair to your beside and flops down with a grunt. 

“You don’t have to stay,” you smile, “go home, get some rest.” They both shake their heads and you sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Sam huffs, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. It’s not like you wanted any of this to happen.”

“But I’ve got you wrapped up in it and now you’re sitting here in the last place you wanna be,” you counter, but Dean grabs your hand and squeezes it. “So, please accept my apology?” Sam holds his hands up in surrender and Dean tilts his head. “Thank you, that’ll help me sleep tonight.” You shift in the bed to make yourself comfortable and Dean’s trying to fluff your pillow while you do. “Are you always like this when someone’s sick?”

“Yes,” comes Sam’s answer. 

“No,” comes Dean’s.

You know who to believe and look over Dean’s shoulder to wink at Sam and he grins back. “You should be getting some rest,” Dean interrupts the two of you, “instead of teaming up on me.” You open your mouth to protest, but the lines on his face tell you he’s very serious. “Close your eyes, relax. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The thought of closing your eyes is tempting, but you’re honestly afraid to dream again. Fear must be on your face because he reaches up to cup your cheek, “Sleep.”

You lean into the touch but eventually nod and force yourself to close your eyes. Someone turns on the tv and there’s shuffling and low murmurs between the boys, but eventually everything falls silent until you doze off.

The nurse wakes you hours later, has a new round of meds and pushes your tray in front of you. Dean’s laying on the bed, resting on his free arm and snoring softly. His brother is gone, but he’s most likely getting coffee. “The doctor will be in soon,” the nurse says, holding out your cup. “How’s your pain?”

“A lot better,” you toss back the pills and chase them with water. “Think I might be able to stomach dinner, too.” She smiles and lifts up the cover on your meal then grimances, “Maybe not.” Your laughter wakes Dean with a start. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He grumbles in return, releasing your hand for the first time since you got back and rubs the sleep away. “Any news,” he looks to the nurse. She tells him what she told you and he gets up to stretch. “Coffee?” The nurse takes him out of the room and down to the hall. 

It’s the first time you’re alone since the incident and it’s got you on edge. Thankfully, it doesn’t last very long because Sam shuffles in with a bag full of burgers. He holds it up with a grin and you wince, “I don’t think I’m allowed to eat that.” 

“I won’t tell,” he winks and pulls up his chair next to Dean’s unoccupied seat. Pushing your tray aside, he unwraps the burger and dishes out some fries, even going as far as cutting the sandwich in half for you. “You doin’ okay?”

“Besides the brain shattering headache and worried that I’m going insane, just peachy,” you reach for the half burger and shakily bring it up to your lips. “Thanks for food and for, you know, finding me going full on Linda Blair.”

Sam smiles sadly and nods, “Yeah, don’t mention it.” The two of you fall silent, but he’s obviously worried about you and you feel just as guilty about it as you do about Dean. “Don’t,” he sighs. “Don’t do that to yourself. You can’t control it and I know how that feels. Don’t ever be sorry about it, alright?” 

You don’t reply, but he can see your shoulders relax a little. Dean’s back with his coffee and takes his place next to you, “Medicine can’t work on an empty stomach.” He sits there and sips on his drink, eyes trained on you and the food. You feel like a child, but you eat, even though you might just hurl it up when you’re all done. “That’s my girl.”

When you got half down the gullet, he fishes out his own and starts scarfing it down. 

The doctor walks in with a packet in hand, “Mrs. Stevens,” he greets, either ignoring your meal choice or just not caring. “Your scans are… troubling.” There’s a lightbox on the wall and he flips the switch before putting the charts on display. 

“Is my head really that big,” you frown.

“Is that really your biggest concern,” Dr. Bishop sighs. You shrug and he continues. “It looks to be a tumor, nestled between your temporal and optical lobes. Have you been hearing or seeing anything lately? Maybe something that wasn’t there?”

“No,” you shake your head, “am I supposed to?”

The doctor stares at you for a long moment before he nods, “It happens. Now, it’s small enough and in a good spot, surgery should be able to take care of it.” 

Surgery’s got you sitting up and your stomach churning. “What? What do you mean? Dean, what does he mean,” you look to the hunter to your left, your eyes wide with fear. 

“Doc, is this the only way?” Dean’s up and over on the other side to get a closer look at the scans. He doesn’t know what they mean, but the black dot on screen is obvious. 

“Surgery is our safest option,” Dr. Bishop insists. 

“How is cracking open her coconut and scrambling up her eggs going to be the safest option,” Dean snaps, squaring up, ready to fight.

“Mr. Stevens, you need to calm down. I’m not sure where you got your medical degree, but if you would like to treat your wife then please, by all means,” the doctor replies, face straight, arms folded behind his back like he’s waiting.

“Dean,” you whisper, holding out your hand. He looks down at it and sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, squeezing it tighter than he means to. “Will I turn into a vegetable?”

Dr. Bishop turns to you and sighs, “There are risks with everything. But with the location of the tumor and the size, there’s a very high success rate.” He can tell that it doesn’t comfort you. “You have rights, you can deny the surgery, the tumor can grow. We won’t know if it’s benign or malignant without a biopsy, but even then, it would be better to just remove it.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Dean turns to look at you, not bothering with the doctor anymore. Dr. Bishop takes that as his cue and leaves the room. “I’m not letting some quack poke around in your head.”

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Dean,” Sam speaks up for the first time. “Wouldn’t it be, Y/N’s?”

“This is family discussion, Sam,” Dean shakes his head. “I think we need to all think about this.” He turns to fully face you, “What’re you thinking?” 

“That I’ll never eat another processed food again for the rest of my life,” you say monotonously. 

“This is serious, Y/N. He wants to poke at your brain with sharp and pointy objects,” Dean scolded.

You grind your teeth and stare at him, eyes locked, and you can see he’s doing his best to keep it together. “Seeing as he’s the doctor, I’m going to take his word over my own.” That isn’t the answer Dean was looking for if the look on his face is anything to go by. “Maybe with the surgery all of this goes away.”

The silence in the room is deafening and it continues until Dean gets up and starts pacing. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you won’t have to fight me for the blanket anymore,” you smile weakly. He stops in his tracks and stares at you in disbelief. “Silver lining, Dean.” His face hardens and his jaw clenches, there’s a moment when his mouth opens to speak before he storms out of the room without a word. 

“I think that was a bit too much, Y/N,” Sam sighs and gets up to follow his brother. 

\---

Neither Winchester return until the next day. 

You slept through the night, waking only to take your meds or go to the bathroom. It’s breakfast when they return in a better mood than when they left. “Good morning,” you greet them, poking at your powered scrambled eggs and dry toast. They return it and you catch Dean’s eye. “Look, about yesterday…”

He holds a hand up to stop you. “I get it,” he says quietly, looking down at his coffee, “it’s a hell of a thing to know that some kook is going to be cracking you open and play God and Death could be a door knock away. It’s really not our place to say anything, to make your decision, but…” His jaw ticks and he looks up at you, eyes a little bloodshot now and he’s holding back, “You’ve got me on a string, kid. I don’t know why but damn if I don’t wanna lose you.”

Your throat tightens at that and you feel your own tears prick at your eyes. “You’re not going to lose me,” you reassure him. “I’ll be fine.” He gets up from his seat and kisses you, hard and pouring all of his soul into it and you do you best to return it. When you’re both breathless and dizzy, he presses his forehead against yours, boths hands on your cheeks. “You’ve got a strong wife,” you tease him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, smile on his lips, “I do.” He kisses your lips once more, then your nose, your forehead and he pulls away, moving back to his place next to Sam to let you finish up your breakfast. 

Dr. Bishop enters a couple hours later, greeting you first and checking over your chart. “Have you come to a decision,” he asks, tucking the clipboard under his arm. 

“I’ll do it,” you say weakly and see Dean shift in his seat. 

The doctor nods and looks through your chart again. “We have an opening in the OR in the morning,” he informs you. “I’ll book it now. No eating or drinking after five today, alright?” You nod once and he’s gone. Not even two seconds after he leaves do you grab the large plastic tub next to your bed and throw up what little breakfast you ate. The boys are both up and next to you, Dean rubbing your back, pressing his lips to your shoulder, Sam holding the tub for you, hand on your knee. 

They help you brush your teeth and Sam cleans out the tub, even though he’s nearly gagging at the smell. Dean’s still with you, one hand still on your back, the other holding one of yours tightly. He doesn’t leave you until the nursing assistant comes in to help you with a much needed shower. Even then, Dean takes one side as the aide takes the other, the two of them taking your weakened body to the shower seat. 

The warm water feels like heaven and the aide, Sierra, takes her time washing your hair even though she mentions they’ll be shaving it all off later. She washes the parts that you can’t reach and dries you off, putting you in another gown and slips on a nice pair of warm socks. You thank her as you walk back to the bed, Dean latching back onto you when you exit. “Please,” she smiles at you, “don’t thank me, it’s my job. But I appreciate it.” She puts you into a chair, placing pillows around you to make sure you’re comfortable and gets to work to change your bed. 

Sam flips on the television and you settle on Law and Order, the both of already getting lost in it, but Dean hates procedural cop shows, so he turns all of his attention on you. His chair is parked at your side, both hands clutching one of yours and he’s staring at you like he’s trying to memorize every line of your face.

Sierra finishes up and says she’ll be back later to put you in bed if you need help. You thank her again and she flashes you a much needed smile and heads to her next patient. “She’s nice,” you sigh, turning to Dean and he’s so close that you bump noses. “You okay there?”

“I’ve been better,” he answers quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been a lot better,” you nod slightly, but pain shoots through you and you wince. He kisses you gently, taking your mind off the pain, at least for a little. “Keep doing that and I’ll be cured,” you laugh against his lips and you feel the spread of his smile. 

The rest of the afternoon continues with much of the same. Dean eventually gives you some space, enough for you and Sam to start watching The Price is Right and arguing over the inflated prices. But the social worker comes just before lunch and he’s sitting with you and Dean, talking about Living Wills and DNRs and it’s got the older Winchester up in arms.

“I thought the doc said this surgery is easy,” he interrupts the guy. “Why does she need to sign all of this stuff?”

“Mr. Stevens, it’s something we do with all major surgeries, high success rates or not,” Roger, the social worker, replies evenly. “We just need Y/N to make sure she has her affairs in order. And if you do this now, you won’t have to do it again later.” He gives you a gentle smile and hands you over the packet and a pen. 

You give a look to Dean that tells him that everything’s okay and you go through the paperwork, page by page, signing and dating, initialling, checking off boxes. It’s over without any issue and Roger leaves with gentle handshakes all around, wishing you good luck.

Dean’s still on edge, but you cup his cheek with a gentle, shaking hand and he calms somewhat. It doesn’t last long because the nurse comes in with an electric clipper. “Can you do the surgery without cutting her hair,” he practically whines, running his fingers through your strands. 

“No,” the nurse replies and gets you in a position so he can cut. “We can shave just the area we need,” he gently places a hand on the center of your head, “or we take it all?”

“I’ve always thought about chopping it all off and going for wigs anyway,” you smile and hear the clippers whirl to life. “Time to go full Britney, bitch.” You squeeze your eyes shut and feel your long, beautiful locks fall down your shoulders and into your lap.


End file.
